


Challengers

by irisbleufic



Series: Delicate, Dangerous, Obsessed [33]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Accidental Bonding, Alliances, Although Five Wouldn't Apply Those Terms to Himself Just Yet, Arkham Asylum, Asexual Character, Asexuality Spectrum, Ass-Kicking, Awkward Conversations, Awkward Flirting, Awkward Tension, Awkwardness, BAMFs, Canon-Typical Violence, Childhood Trauma, Confrontations, Consensual Kink, Dark Comedy, Dark Past, Demisexual Character, Demisexuality, Disability, Do not translate without permission or copy to another site/app, Escape, Fights, First Meetings, First Time, Genderfluid Character, Genderqueer Character, Hidden Depths, Humor, Intersex Character, Jerome Valeska Lives, Look At Your Life Look At Your Choices, Murder Husbands, Neurodiversity, Nonbinary Character, Other, POV 514A, POV Jerome Valeska, Random Encounters, Revenge, Road Trips, Shared Trauma, Sibling Rivalry, Siblings, Trans Character, Twins, Weird Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-24
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2020-05-19 03:58:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 25,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19349038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irisbleufic/pseuds/irisbleufic
Summary: Abruptly, Jerome considered the full picture. Five, if he were wearing a mask and had his long, dark hair messily upswept like he did now, wouldn’tobviouslybe a young man. He wouldn’t be anything—except oddly beautiful, which was hard to accept.“You’re staring,” Five said, with an edge of defensiveness. “I don’t like it when people stare.”Jerome rolled his eyes, amused again. “That makes two of us, precious. I don’t let on, though.”Five scowled more fiercely than Bruce did on his worst days. “Why do you keep calling me—”“Because you’re adorable,” Jerome said. “You’re like, what, a hundred-and-thirty-pound killing machine with hair that’d make a Disney princess jealous? Look at yourself.”Five just stared at him, briefly chewing his lower lip. “I don’t like to. I bet you don’t, either.”





	1. Run-In

Jerome hadn’t planned on cooling his heels in Arkham for a year this time, but there were worse things he could have done. His first two months had been spent in the hospital ward, which was where he’d _also_ been sent the night Jim Gordon punched his stapled face off.

Everyone else thought of it as the night the lights went out, which was dull, but flattering.

Arkham’s new administration had kept him hospitalized a full month beyond the point his gunshot wound—from Bruce, poetic justice—had healed. Several times, he’d asked why he hadn’t been sent to solitary, or even assigned a standard cell.

One of the nurses, name of Kohler, had taken pity and dug up the information. An anonymous benefactor had ensured that his care would be extended as a precaution. As a precaution against what, Jerome’s case-file didn't say.

That sounded like Bruce and his massive guilt-complex if Jerome had ever heard it. He wondered if Jeremiah, resident at Wayne Manor according to media reports, even knew. Maybe Jeremiah’s guilt was all tied up in it, too.

Jerome had tried not to think about that. He’d seen them kiss the night Bruce stormed into the abandoned Court of Owls lab with his rescue squad. He’d seen Jeremiah hang on Bruce’s neck like he was his entire world. He’d heard Bruce whisper, muffled and fond, in Jeremiah’s ear.

Jerome had gone to all that trouble to make a monster, and Bruce Wayne had fallen in love with it.

And so, afflicted with a bullet-wound and those unasked-for visuals, off to Arkham he’d been shipped. The extra four weeks of convalescence had come at an advantage. The hospital ward wasn’t as internally well-guarded. Medical staff had clearance to come and go at all hours.

Nurse Kohler, newly assigned to the night shift, had persisted in her responsiveness to his model-patient behavior. Polite conversation had won him not only the benefactor information, but gossip about what actions had been taken in the wake of his escape with Tetch and Crane.

“They sealed off cellar access to the old Indian Hill tunnels,” Kohler had confided late one night.

That had triggered a memory relating to another, much earlier break-out that people still talked about. In fact, the infamy in which it lived was admirable. It had happened during the long, dull year Jerome had spent dead.

Maybe he ought to think of the night Bruce punched his face off—the night the lights went out—as the night of his resurrection. He’d thought of it that way at the outset, hadn’t he? Gotham’s most hopeless souls had hailed him as their Savior.

“Better hope they’ve overhauled the ventilation system, then, am I right?” Jerome had chuckled.

“Sure,” Kohler had replied, laughing indulgently, “but with funding being what it is? I doubt it.”

It hadn’t taken all of his remaining ten months to work out how to access the same tunnels that had permitted Edward Nygma to make his failed break for it. No, he’d spent the last month and change waiting on a crucial delivery.

Kohler, before quitting her job and vanishing, had provided him with a ring of key-copies on a chain with a miniature flashlight, and a security card coded to a member of medical staff who was long gone. He wondered where she’d end up. Pacific Northwest, maybe. She’d fit in.

Jerome’s cell didn’t have a vent, but the visitation room _did_. He made it there swiftly and without harm, but traversing the vents quietly took ages.

Down in the dust-laden darkness he hadn’t seen since Strange had led him and Crane and Tetch through it, he got lost. And then his battery-powered flashlight had died, leaving him to feel his way uselessly along walls and bang into various long-unused equipment.

Jerome was so astonished to come across a closed door with scant light filtering from underneath that he barged through it. Which, it turned out, was a desperately stupid move.

The figure that had been rifling through the old metal filing cabinet dropped its flashlight, rounded on Jerome, and knocked him flat. By the time Jerome recovered from the pain of cracking his skull, the figure straddling him had a forearm pressed to Jerome’s windpipe.

There was something uncannily familiar about the way the perpetrator’s weight sat on him, so he scrabbled for the flashlight where it had landed off to his left. Just as he was beginning to feel lightheaded, he caught hold of it and swung it up in his assailant’s face.

Jerome had no idea which of them was staring in greater shock, but it bought him enough time to unseat the apparition, get to his feet, and brandish the flashlight like a weapon.

“If there’s an explanation for why you look like my second-least favorite person in the world—”

“Any closer, and I’ll kill you,” said the young man, eyes feral. He didn’t _sound_ like Bruce.

“With reflexes like that,” Jeremiah laughed, cautiously offering him the flashlight, “I believe it.”

The young man snatched it from him and shone it in Jerome’s face. “You’re one of the Valeskas,” he said tonelessly. “You’re supposed to be…”

“Got news for ya,” Jerome sighed, shoving the flashlight aside. “Arkham’s track-record of keeping me on the inside? Isn’t so great.”

“Clearly,” said the young man, already making his way back to the filing cabinet. He fished out whatever folder he’d been about to grab when Jerome interrupted, and then set it on the stack he’d accrued on the dusty desk. “Aren’t you going to ask what I’m doing here?”

“Uh, no?” Jerome said, his curiosity piqued nonetheless. “But if I had to guess,” he went on, stepping close enough to read the folder tabs, most of which were labeled _514A_ , “you were somebody’s science-fair experiment gone wrong.”

The young man gathered the stack to his chest, rounding on him. “You were down here, too.”

“Yup,” Jerome agreed, studying the young man’s gaunt features. He didn’t look like Bruce’s twin, not _exactly_ , even with his hair pulled back. “I have no illusions about what I am.”

“These files have already told me some things I didn’t know,” the young man said. “Like how the Waynes archived DNA samples when Bruce was still in utero. How the Court members who sat on the board at Wayne Industries did…whatever they did to make _me_ …before Bruce was even carried to term.” He sucked in his breath. “I can’t remember anything before about three years ago, but I was _born_. Test-tube baby. Once I was no longer an infant, they took me to Indian Hill. I grew up there. They started making modifications, running experiments. I woke up from one with amnesia. It looks like…my mother, my surrogate? Kathryn? She’s dead. I only met her once after the procedures, but at least we spent some time together. There’s a contract in one of these folders that the Court made Kathryn sign, saying she wouldn’t try to keep me. Going through with it proved her loyalty and sealed her place as the Court’s next leader. [Oswald Cobblepot killed her a couple of years ago](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10605213/chapters/25236963), when he rescued his husband and Bruce from the Court. She and her private physician told me I wasn't supposed to live much longer. I was having nosebleeds, but...they stopped. I don't know what it means.”

Jerome just listened, because he wasn’t sure what else he could do. Sad story, sure, but his was right up there. He wasn’t in the mood for sentimental sharing, not when he couldn’t tell whether he was getting out alive. _This_ monster was an assassin.

“Do you have a name or something?” asked Jerome, with the sneaking suspicion he’d regret it.

“Five,” said the young man, appearing to count the stack of folders in his arms. “I think that’s it,” he said, brushing past Jerome. “Good luck.”

“Wait,” Jerome protested, feeling dismissed. “You’re not even going to ask for my sob story?”

“I already know you,” said Five, turning back to face Jerome as he shrugged. “You’re like me.”

“How do you figure?” Jerome asked, chewing the inside of his cheek. He wasn’t smiling now.

“Because nobody wants us,” Five replied, giving him a hard look. “Bruce didn’t want me, his friend didn’t want me, the Court of Owls didn’t even—”

“His friend?” Jerome scoffed. “That’s quite a claim. Last I checked, he only had the butler.”

“Selina,” Five sighed. “I tried kissing her, just to see if...” He shook his head, staring bitterly at the floor. “I wanted to know what it felt like. She didn’t like it. Neither did I.”

“Don’t see why you would, dollface,” Jerome said, hoping sarcasm would cover his revulsion. “I can’t recommend, _ah_. You know. _That_.”

“What, sex?” asked Five. “It’s...boring,” he concluded after a beat. “I work at the Foxglove as security. I’ve seen everything. I like that I have to wear a mask. Nobody asks me about...” He gestured vaguely at himself, and then narrowed his eyes. “Don’t call me that.”

“C’mon, what _should_ I call you?” Jerome asked. “What kind of a name is Five, anyway?”

“It’s _mine_ ,” Five said defensively, clutching the stack of folders tighter to his chest. “It’s—it’s unsentimental. Neutral. Nobody makes assumptions.”

Abruptly, Jerome considered the full picture. Five, if he were wearing a mask and had his long, dark hair messily upswept like he did now, wouldn’t _obviously_ be a young man. He wouldn’t be anything—except oddly beautiful, which was hard to accept.

“You’re staring,” Five said, with an edge of defensiveness. “I don’t like it when people stare.”

Jerome rolled his eyes, amused again. “That makes two of us, precious. I don’t let on, though.”

Five scowled more fiercely than Bruce did on his worst days. “Why do you keep calling me—”

“Because you’re adorable,” Jerome said. “You’re like, what, a hundred-and-thirty-pound killing machine with hair that’d make a Disney princess jealous? Look at yourself.”

Five just stared at him, briefly chewing his lower lip. “I don’t like to. I bet you don’t, either.”

Uncertain of what he was doing, Jerome took a few cautious steps closer. When he tugged at the folders, Five let go of them, eyes questioning as Jerome set them aside on the desk.

“You’re not afraid,” said Jerome. “You could’ve snapped my neck. Why didn’t you?”

Five shrugged, defiantly standing his ground as Jerome took another step closer.

“Humor me?” Jerome asked, offering him a wry smile as he extended one hand.

Shrugging again, Five nodded. “I’ll just kill you if you try anything I don’t like.”

Jerome reached behind Five’s head and found what Five had used to tie his hair back. The black elastic was so worn that it snapped when Jerome over-expanded it with precise fingers.

Five didn’t blink as Jerome let Five’s hair down, arranging it loosely over his shoulder. It curled like Bruce’s did when it was in need of cutting, but with artless elegance. Jerome had done his mother’s hair before performances, a mechanical task. This was something else: _fascination_.

“Why did you do that?” Five asked tersely as Jerome withdrew his hand. “What do you want?”

“I don’t know,” Jerome said, picking up the folders in rattled annoyance, “but my point about you being adorable is no longer up for debate.”

“What are you going to do?” Five sneered, a startlingly belligerent challenge. “Walk me home?”

“Uh, _yeah_ ,” Jerome said, striding into the hall. “I have no place to go. Dunno what I can offer you in exchange for a few days’ room and board, aside from an extra pair of eyes.”

Five dashed to catch up. He wasn’t even winded. Didn’t even look _human_ , deadly and arresting in ways Bruce Wayne could only dream of.

“Lucky for you,” he said, his speech halting, “I like them.”

“What?” Jerome asked, turning his head in frank curiosity.

“Your eyes,” Five clarified. He stared at the tunnel ahead.


	2. Reciprocation

Five’s schedule at the Foxglove was erratic. Jerome had erroneously assumed that he’d be working nights only. In retrospect, given he’d run into Five around three in the morning down in the guts of Indian Hill, that didn’t check out.

Five’s squat was on the second floor of a derelict building on the edge of the Docklands. It was shockingly nice, if kind of run-down. The place smelled faintly of disinfectant, like Five was doing his best to keep on top of mold and mildew.

The only window in the place, made of those molded squares of Coke-bottle glass that didn’t let in much more than light, took up half the living room’s outward facing wall. What Jerome could remember from the night Five snuck him in was that it overlooked an alley.

The fancy antique sofa was threadbare, but huge. It was the most comfortable thing Jerome had slept on in years. Five had dumped a pile of dry, cheap-detergent-smelling blankets on Jerome and told him he was lucky to be crashing there in May instead of March.

For the first several days Jerome stayed with him, Five didn’t go to work at all. He made a handful of short forays out, usually for food—but, on the third evening, he brought back several bags of previously-worn clothes that were roughly Jerome’s size.

“Where the hell did you get these?” Jerome asked, wandering out of the bathroom in a pair of tan khakis, plain black tee, and grey flannel hoodie that, once upon a time, he might even have picked for himself. “Furthermore, _why_?”

“Some from a shelter, some from Goodwill. I paid cash,” Five said, trying to get the stove-top lit. “We need to burn your Arkham uniform. Evidence.”

“Thought maybe that was your way of telling me it stinks,” Jerome said. “I’ve been bathing.”

“Thanks for that,” Five said snidely, hissing in displeasure when none of the dials produced any flame. “City hasn’t shut the gas off. I can smell it.”

“Matches?” Jerome suggested. “Where do you keep ’em? I’ll pop outside and take care of—”

“You won’t go anywhere,” Five said, rounding on him as the front-left burner flared to life. “Your face is on every front page and television screen from here to Midtown.”

“What do you care?” Jerome asked, watching in fascination as Five absent-mindedly set his wrist on the edge of the stove, too close to the flame. “No skin off your…back if I get caught, uh, look,” he said nervously, pointing when Five didn’t so much as flinch at the fact his sleeve had caught fire. “You might wanna put that out!”

Five tore his eyes away from Jerome, glancing down in calm dismay. He drew his hand away from the stovetop, shrugged out of his faded black hoodie, and dropped it on the floor. He stomped out the diminutive blaze with his oxblood combat boot.

“Thanks,” he said, his inflection sincere rather than sarcastic as he studied the red weal on the outside of his right wrist. “Hate when that happens.”

Some part of his back-brain on autopilot from all the times his mother had nodded off and given herself cigarette burns, Jerome went to the sink. He ran cold water on the ragged dish cloth he found there and offered it to Five.

“You can’t feel pain, can you?” he asked, watching Five press the cloth to his wrist without flinching. “Think you were always like that, or was it—”

“One of the experiments,” Five cut in, perfunctorily tying the cloth in place. He reached for the sauce pan he’d filled with water while Jerome was changing his clothes and set it on the flame. “I’ve been reading the files while you’re asleep. Those account for my reflexes and strength, too.”

Jerome stayed frozen on the spot. He watched Five, in profile now, carelessly dump an entire box of macaroni into the water. He swore and plucked out the powdered-sauce packet. Five’s hair was in a loose braid that hit just between his shoulder blades, wavy tendrils escaping.

“The door doesn’t lock,” Five told Jerome, stirring the pot even though it hadn’t begun to boil. “You’ve had plenty of chances to leave. Why do _you_ care if I incinerate myself?”

 _Because you’re a terrible cook_ , Jerome thought. _Because you’re the only fragile-looking soul I’ve ever met who doesn’t expect or demand help._

“Because you’re my eyes and ears for the time being,” Jerome replied. “Like you said, I shouldn’t be going anywhere until the media circus dies down. I’ll need you to be the judge.”

Five laughed, pressing his right hand to his mouth. The dish cloth fell off, but he ignored it.

“You need me,” he said, “to be the judge of a circus. Didn’t you grow up in one of those?”

“Listen, I can appreciate the desire for a respectable collection of scars, but will that get infected?” Jerome ventured. “Not like I’m any great shakes in the self-care department, but…”

Shaking his head, Five finally looked at Jerome again. “I heal faster than most people. My hair grows faster, too,” he said, absently tugging at his braid. “Something to do with cellular regeneration. I’ve read through it, but I don’t understand the science.”

Seized by the urge to touch Five’s hair again, Jerome wandered right up next to him at the stove. He flipped Five’s braid back over his shoulder, almost flinching at the glare it earned him.

“If that catches on fire, too,” Jerome said sardonically, “I’d never forgive myself. Would you?”

Five chewed his lip, and then adamantly shook his head. “I actually really like it. My hair.”

“How fast does it grow?” Jerome asked, relaxing. “Are we talking, like, Rapunzel levels of freakishness here if you don’t cut some off daily?”

“No,” Five replied, half-smiling again. “An inch or two every other week. I pull it up a lot.”

“Good thing, too,” Jerome said, peering critically into the pot, realizing Five was going to overcook the pasta if he didn’t intervene. “Why don’t you go sit down, princess, and leave this to me?”

Five stared at him for a few seconds, his expression shifting from irritated to unreadable. He took the spoon out of the pot, shook the water droplets off the opposite side of the stove, and shoved it against Jerome’s chest before walking away.

Jerome didn’t hear a peep out of Five until he’d turned off the heat, drained the pot, and dumped the sauce packet. Five didn’t get up to help him find milk and butter. He only found the latter.

“Do you call me that because of my hair,” Five asked while Jerome stirred the mac and cheese, “or because you think I’m some damsel in distress who can’t be trusted not to burn the place down?”

Jerome opened and slammed the silverware drawer, and then opened it again. He grabbed two forks, and then fetched the pot from the stove. A survey of the cabinets had told him there were no clean dishes, and they were lucky no roaches had gotten at the ones in the sink.

“No,” Jerome said, meeting Five’s inquisitive gaze as he joined him on the sofa, handing him a fork. “It’s because you live in such a classy dive.”

Snickering, Five dug into their dinner as soon as Jerome set it between them on the cushion.

“Okay,” he said, mouth already full. “Whatever. I know it can’t be because of my manners.”

Later, once Five had done the dishes and Jerome had gone through Five’s day-old newspaper, Five rejoined Jerome on the sofa. He sat closer than before, head tilted forward, and pulled his braid away from the back of his neck.

“Speaking of scars,” he said, “this is one of mine. They tried to remove it, but it’s really just…” Jerome could hear the frown in Five’s voice. “Flatter and paler than before.”

Jerome studied it in fascination. “Does it end here?” he asked, setting careful fingers just below the collar of Five’s charcoal tee even though he _wanted_ to touch the scar itself.

“No,” Five muttered, picking Jerome’s hand up, shoving it back at him. “Runs down my spine.”

Abruptly, Jerome wanted to kill the person who’d inflicted it on him. Felt sick to even remember he’d worked with said person, even if it had been worth what they’d done to Jeremiah. Strange was _lucky_ that Ivy Pepper had been the one to kill him.

“I have some other ones.  Two here,” Five went on, touching the right side of his abdomen. “And two here,” he said, shifting his fingertips over to his left side. “There are smaller ones on my lower back, symmetrical on either side of my spine. I have no idea what they did.”

Jerome whistled, or at least tried to. “Impressive,” he said, deceptively mild. “All from the lab?”

“No,” Five said matter-of-factly. “The ones on my left side are stab-wounds from fighting.”

“Did you kill any of ’em, princess?” asked Jerome, in genuine admiration. “I bet you did.”

Five shrugged. “Most of them. Badly injured the rest,” he said, yawning as he stood and walked to his bedroom door. “I don’t think I mind,” he added, pausing on the threshold as he removed the elastic from his braid and shook it loose.

“Mind what?” Jerome asked, pretending to concentrate on sorting rumpled pillows and blankets

“When you call me that,” Five said without judgment, “or any of the other stuff. I’m tired. ’Night.”

 _Because you’re breathtaking_ , Jerome thought, watching him close the door, _and deserve better._


	3. Recklessness

Three days stretched into a week without incident. Five straggled in from night shifts around four in the morning. Sometimes Jerome was awake when he did, eager to see the latest newspapers and hear the bizarre gossip that Five always brought with him.

Five let Jerome take over most of the food preparation, but he was prickly about it at first.

As a week stretched into two, Jerome grew to find Five’s intermittent absences—around five to six hours at a time—intolerable. There were only so many times he could read the previous day’s newspaper, only so many stations Five’s transistor radio could pick up.

The second week stretched into a third, revealing all the ways they rubbed each other wrong. 

Five hated Jerome’s clothes hanging on the rack that was, for some inscrutable reason, meant for towels only. Instead of asking Jerome to move them, he’d toss them on the floor. Most of the time, they got soaked while Five showered because the plastic curtain was shit.

Jerome hated Five’s tendency to leave dirty dishes filled with water in the sink. He’d put up with lots of roaches, on the road and in Arkham, but he didn’t _like_ them. Worrying about them crawling into your bed would make a light sleeper of anyone.

They both hated that Five had to make laundromat runs alone. Five because he’d grown to resent doing the work for two, and Jerome because he desperately needed fresh air. Folding was always a silent, surly shared task when Five got back.

Every few days, Jerome would tentatively float the idea that maybe it was time for him to leave—just to _see_. Always quick with some piece of logic or another, no matter how tetchy, Five wouldn’t let him. Invariably, Jerome felt bone-deep relief.

On Friday of the third week, while Five was at work, Jerome left the squat before he started breaking dishes or throwing knives at the wall out of sheer boredom. It was dark, just after midnight. He’d been sure to wear a hoodie and wrap one of Five’s cotton scarves around his face from nose to neck. He hadn’t even intended to wander far. Brief exercise would clear his head.

The GCPD didn’t often patrol this neighborhood, no more frequently than they did the Narrows. 

Nonetheless, Jerome had scarcely been out for twenty minutes when he noticed a cruiser following about a block behind him. No-brainer, given the way he was dressed. Jim’s flunkeys were just making sure this rando with their face covered didn’t rob the nearest 7-Eleven.

Easy enough, giving them the slip, but it meant spending an hour crouched on the fire-escape behind Five’s building. As soon as the streets seemed quiet, he made his way back inside.

Home early, Five was waiting on the sofa. He rose as Jerome entered the squat, clenched fists falling at his sides. He was still in his Foxglove-staff mask. He was wearing tight black jeans, which wasn’t unusual, but the sheer black button-down blouse over a black silk camisole?

Every excuse that Jerome could think to make died in his throat as Five tore off the mask, pulling his hair out of arrangement. His fury was palpable, and he was _stunning_. How many hapless fools had that incandescent rage struck down?

Dazed, Jerome recognized the twist in his gut for what it was. He’d never felt it looking at another person, not in almost twenty-four years of—well, _mostly_ being alive. This kind of hunger wasn't new to him, but the things that triggered it were few.

“Do you have any idea how stupid that was?” Five asked, so cold he almost sounded like Bruce.

“Hey, you’re not the one dying of cabin fever,” Jerome retorted, kicking off his secondhand shoes.

Unexpectedly, Five stormed right up to him, so close Jerome could feel every puff of his breath.

“Is this a joke to you?” he asked, sounding like himself again, wounded. “Am I a joke to you?”

“Most things are a joke to me, precious,” Jerome sighed, wistfully amused. He reached to tuck Five’s hair behind his ear before he even realized what he was doing. “That’s just how it—”

Five landed his punch so hard that Jerome staggered back against the wall, tripping over Five’s boots while he was at it. He didn’t even try to rise. The residual sting set his nerves alight.

Dropping to his knees, Five blinked at Jerome’s bloody lip. He looked miserable.

“You can touch my hair,” he said defiantly, “as long as you kiss me while you do.”

Jerome was more scared than he could ever remember being, but he was too desperate to care. He’d bear the shame of finding out what it felt like.

“C’mere, princess,” he grunted, struggling to sit up. “Seeing as you won, you got a deal.”

Five all but knocked him flat, crawling into Jerome’s lap. He grabbed Jerome’s hands and set them on either side of his face as he leaned forward.

Jerome tasted blood as Five sucked at his split lip and licked into his mouth. Dizzily, he slid his fingers from Five’s smooth cheeks up into his hair. Five’s weight on him made the ache worse, made him need what he’d never so much as wanted in his life.

Five pressed closer against him, swallowing a cry as Jerome slid his tongue past Five’s teeth. He was trembling as Jerome ran shaking fingers through his hair and experimentally tugged at it. He was _hard_.

Jerome sighed against Five’s mouth, fervently stroking the back of Five’s head, out of his mind with nerves and desire. “You wanna take this, uh...”

“Yes,” Five managed, scrambling out of Jerome’s lap, offering his hand. “Bedroom.”

Jerome let Five haul him to his feet, entranced. He trailed after, almost as hard in his pants as Five was in his. Five’s bed was a lumpy mattress on the floor, but the linens looked clean. 

Five sat down on the creaking springs, unbuttoning his sheer outer shirt. “I’ve never done this.” 

“That makes two of us,” Jerome muttered, plopping down beside him. He unzipped the hoodie he’d been wearing for most of the day, relieved when Five—wearing only the camisole now, at least as top layers went—helped him shrug out of it.

“I’m leaving this on,” Five said, pink-cheeked, indicating his camisole. He unfastened his jeans and started to peel them off. “I hope that doesn’t—”

“No,” Jerome said, mind going blank at just how much of Five’s skin he could see even with Five still in his camisole and briefs. “You do you.”

Five noticed Jerome’s hesitation over the removing-bottom-layers thing. He lay down against the pillows and beckoned to him, hair a glistening spill in the bedside lamp’s glow. 

“We don’t have to do this,” he said earnestly, reaching for Jerome’s hand. “We could just…”

Jerome took off his pants. He wasn’t taking off anything else if he could help it, either. Lying down next to Five was simultaneously the simplest and most terrifying thing he’d ever done.

“Listen,” Jerome said, touching Five’s cheek, surprised to find tear-tracks there, “I wanna try.”

Five nodded restlessly, and then pressed his dry, soft lips against Jerome’s. “I want you, too.”

Kissing was awkward, but it was also addictive. Jerome felt feverish, could feel Five trembling as he squirmed closer. Slipping a hand down the back of Five’s briefs, Jerome felt the smooth scar tissue where it ended just above Five’s tailbone. 

Five jolted against Jerome, his abrupt cry startling in the silence of the room. “More,” he said.

“Does this…feel okay?” Jerome asked, hating that he had no idea what to say to a partner so far out of his league that it was pathetic. He pinned Five on his back, and Five’s groan hit him square in the gut. “Jeez, Five. Can you tell me…”

Nodding wildly, Five clutched at Jerome’s shoulders with fearsome strength and trapped Jerome’s hips between his thighs. He was shaking so hard that Jerome wondered if he ought to be concerned.

“Like—just like this,” Five said, voice breaking on a whimper when Jerome moved against him.

“If you can’t feel pain,” Jerome breathed, burying his face in Five’s neck, biting down mercilessly, “then what…what about stuff like…”

Five just about screamed, digging his heel into Jerome’s calf as Jerome licked at the pinpricks of blood he’d drawn. “I can feel heat, cold, pressure…” He nodded eagerly when Jerome bit down again, not breaking skin this time. “I’ve…touched myself before. It feels…”

“So have I,” Jerome reassured him, wondering why in the world he felt so protective of a creature that needed neither guarding, nor anything else he could offer. “Feels nice.”

Five gasped raggedly, pressing his cheek against Jerome’s scarred jaw. “This feels nicer.”

“Princess,” Jerome said, circling his hips slowly, agitated at the plateau his own arousal had hit, “what can I do?” He kissed the spot he’d bitten, lapping up more blood.

Five jerked under him, moaning like he couldn’t find words. He was shaking harder than ever, he— _oh_ , there it was. Dampness seeped through the thin layers of cotton between them.

Jerome watched Five’s face contort in bliss, too mesmerized to feel guilt. He stroked Five’s cheek, and then raked his fingers through Five’s hair.

“Pretty thing,” Jerome soothed, sharply nipping Five’s ear. “Makes me wanna mark you up.”

Five thrashed and clung to Jerome, his chest heaving like he couldn’t breathe. He moaned again, much quieter this time. He was lost in fresh spasms, and—and _Jerome_ had done that.

“Wish you would,” Five gasped, head tipping back as he relaxed beneath Jerome. “ _Fuck_.”

Jerome bent his head again, kissing Five on the mouth. His cut lip stung so fiercely that the pain—coupled with the sudden, tentative slide of Five’s fingers along his waistband—made his cock twitch. He gasped, bearing down against Five’s hip.

“Can I touch you?” Five murmured against Jerome’s mouth, his lips slick with Jerome’s blood.

Nodding, Jerome hesitated a moment before rolling onto his back, tugging Five along. He laughed, giddily manic, as Five ducked his head and delivered a savage bite to Jerome’s collarbone. He guided Five’s tentative hand down the front of his boxers.

“You’re bleeding worse than me,” Five breathed against Jerome’s ear as he ran gentle, possessive fingers over Jerome’s cock. “It’s—it’s really hot.”

Jerome came so hard it left him shaking, clinging to Five’s forearm tight around his waist. He’d never been touched like that, not by anyone. He’d never expected such _care_.

“You feel really good,” Five whispered, running his sticky fingers idly over Jerome’s belly.

Eyes squeezed shut, Jerome found just enough breath to rasp, “You too, precious. You too.”


	4. Reunion

When Jerome woke up, he had no clue what time it was. As for where he was, as _mortified_ as he was, he could remember without difficulty.

Five lay next to him, asleep on his side. The shadows his lashes cast on his cheeks looked like the bruises that had blossomed on his neck.

Jerome lay on his side, too, facing Five. Between them, his fingers were curled around Five’s wrist, an act of unconscious anchoring.

Without much effort, Jerome could also remember how Five had kissed his cheek before going to fetch them a washcloth and dry underthings. How Five had made a second trip to the bathroom, returning with alcohol and tissues to clean the bites they’d given each other.

Although they hadn’t spoken further, he could remember Five’s expression as they drifted off.

Releasing Five’s hand, Jerome brushed Five’s tousled hair out of his eyes. Bruce could only ever _dream_ of looking that happy, unless Jeremiah was some kind of miracle-worker. The knowledge they might be waking together at the same instant filled Jerome with disgust.

Jerome sat up, rising from the edge of the mattress. He stared down at Five, unaccustomed to feeling this guilty and troubled. How could he have been so weak? At these dire odds, he was no better than his mother _or_ his brother. It was almost funny.

Refusing to dwell on it, Jerome collected his hoodie and pants. Closing the bedroom door quietly behind him, he walked into the living room, where the wall clock’s rust-riddled face told him it was just past five in the morning. _Ha_.

Jerome tossed his clothes at the foot of the sofa, and then untangled his nest of blankets. He crawled under them, adamantly refusing to laugh.

The only option left was crying his eyes out. He just couldn’t manage it, not for lack of trying.

At some point, Jerome must have fallen back to sleep. He woke again to bright sunlight and a warm, reassuring weight against his chest.

Five had wormed his way under the blankets and into Jerome’s arms without even waking him.

“Sorry if I snore,” he said, sheepish, his cheek pressed stubbornly to Jerome’s shoulder. “Do I?”

Jerome was tipping Five’s chin up before he knew it, seeking his only surefire distraction.

With a low, startled noise, Five opened his mouth eagerly against Jerome’s. “G’morning.”

Before Jerome could get as far as rolling Five beneath himself and deepening the kiss, he froze, sick with self-scorning dread. He couldn’t afford such a reckless, unreasonable attachment.

Five almost fell off the sofa when Jerome pushed him away, clawing at the pillows for purchase.

“What the hell?” he demanded, throwing one of the pillows in irritation. “You _do_ remember what we did last night, right?”

“Unfortunately,” Jerome said, shrugging into the nearest hoodie before grabbing his pants off the floor. “No offense, sunshine, but…” He frowned at Five’s slowly-widening blue eyes, about to regret his next words. “Tactical error.”

Five stared at Jerome for a minute before appearing to decide he wasn’t going to pin Jerome and suffocate him. Shame, because what a way to go.

“Oh, _fuck_ you,” said Five. He stalked out of the room, dragging the blankets with him.

“This isn’t personal, princess!” Jerome shouted as the bedroom door slammed. “It’s my fault!”

“Don’t fucking _call_ me that!” Five shrieked, pounding the door so hard with his fists that Jerome had to take a step back. “Was it because you were thinking about _him_?”

Jerome clutched Five’s scarf in shock. “Wait a sec,” he said, cautiously approaching. “Who?”

“Bruce!” Five retorted, no longer screaming. He was in tears, though, and not trying to hide it.

“Jesus Christ,” Jerome muttered, grabbing two mismatched socks. “Never even occurred to me to think of him like that, much less—” He hissed in frustration, stumbling into one sock, and then the other. “He’s—he’s like my kid brother! Only— _wait_ , no, let’s back up. Forget I even said that. One brother’s enough of a pain in my ass, let alone—” He snarled and banged right back, shaking the door on its hinges. “If I _ever_ wanna do with Bruce Wayne what I did with you? Put a fucking _bullet in my brain_ , are we clear?”

Five’s initial response was stunned silence, followed by a kick so sharp the door audibly cracked.

“Bet you don’t even realize who used to live here,” said Five, venomously taunting, “do you?”

Jerome marched to Five’s pile of shoes and shoved his feet into the ones Five had brought him.

“I don’t see why it matters, precious,” he said loudly, using the endearment with intent to hurt.

“Selina abandoned this place after I tried to push her out the window,” Five said scathingly.

Taking in his surroundings, Jerome’s mind flooded with the inevitable realization. Bruce had been there, had maybe spent the night. Who even knew what he’d done before he met—

“You,” Jerome raged, slinging the scarf around his neck, “are a petty _bitch_!”

“Thought I was a _pretty_ one!” Five shot back, with an air of triumph. “Get out!”

Before leaving, Jerome took Five’s sharpest, easiest-to-conceal kitchen knife. He already knew that Five didn’t have any guns. Five had said as much on Jerome’s first night there.

With his hood up and Five’s scarf covering his nose and mouth, Jerome headed toward the river.

Hiding under Crown Point Bridge until nightfall like a troll out of some second-rate fairytale wasn’t Jerome’s finest moment, but at least it was safe. He slept for hours, dreamless.

While he was in Arkham, Jerome had caught wind of a place in the Narrows that was onboard with his outlook. Sure, the fact it was a night club made him cringe, but that was _something_.

On his way into the city after dark, the first person Jerome ran across who didn’t run from _him_ was an especially tenacious drug-dealer. He finally paused, as if listening to their pitch, and slit their throat when they got close enough.

Jerome took the stiff’s gloves and five hundred dollars, but disposed of the nice bi-fold wallet.

(Five, Five, _Five_. The scarf even smelled like him, distinct and inexplicably comforting.)

The bouncer at Celestial Garden told Jerome he’d have to uncover his face and show ID to get in.

“Hmmm, no can do,” Jerome said, withdrawing one of the hundred-dollar bills from his pocket.

The classily-dressed hulk rolled his eyes and took Jerome’s victim’s money. “You after Jeri?”

Jerome frowned beneath Five’s scarf as he shrugged. “That what folks who bribe you are usually after?” He rethought his words. “Excuse me, _who_.”

The bouncer narrowed his eyes progressively as Jerome spoke. “Inside. Before I call the cops.”

Tapping the side of his covered nose, Jerome avoided clipping the man’s elbow as he passed.

The club’s interior was garish and strobe-lit. He couldn’t exactly say he disapproved, although more than a few minutes in the booming midst of it would give him a migraine.

Jerome blew another hundred on one of the punked-out bartenders, who agreed to take him to Jeri. They traipsed through a maze of hallways just to reach a cozily-lit dressing room.

The woman seated before the mirror was checking her phone. Her bleach-blonde, short-haired reflection glanced up as Jerome entered. Her chaotic make-up was suitably whimsical.

“Big Greg outside, he texted,” she said in a raw, perky voice, drawing a pistol from her bodice. “Said I oughta expect some, I dunno, _dark horse_ who won’t show his face. Gotta hand it to you kids, flashin’ your money around like there’s no tomorrow. What do I know? Maybe there won’t be.”

Jerome unwound the scarf, threw back his hood, and walked right up to Jeri. He knelt and pulled the barrel against his forehead.

“O ye of _immense_ faith,” he said, breaking into a grin as her eyes flew wide, “I seek sanctuary.”

Jeri tipped the gun-barrel toward the ceiling. She didn’t speak for several seconds, unblinking.

“What kind of dumbass are you, comin’ here?” she asked. “There’s a GCPD bounty on your head, tune of fifty grand. Steep for a Savior in and out of the loony bin, doncha think?”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Jerome lamented, rummaging in his pocket for the remaining three hundred. “However, your—” he sniffed “—house of ill repute is the best chance I’ve got.”

Jeri cackled, eyes crinkling behind her glasses. “I don’t care about money. What do you need?”

“Someplace to crash until I figure out what the fuck I’m doing,” Jerome said, rolling the hundred-dollar bills, sticking them in her bodice. “Proper clothes would be nice.”

Snatching the money, Jeri raised it as if toasting him. “The kinda stuff you wear, that does cost.”

Seeing as Celestial Garden was already below street level, there was no cellar for Jerome to crash in. He was stuck with Jeri’s dressing room, its creaky settee, and resident roaches. He spent the night wide awake, fussing with Five’s scarf.

Shortly before opening the next evening, Jeri woke him up by dropping a heavy garment bag on his chest. She went over to her stool and tapped the shoebox that sat on it.

“D’you have any idea how hard it is to guess your size? I had to three of my guys come down here while you were zonked just to give me estimates, and then averaged ’em.”

Groggily, Jerome sat up and saluted. She looked even more fascinating without the cosmetics.

Tilting her head, Jeri walked back over to the settee, bent down, and scooped something off the floor. She ran Five’s black cotton scarf across her wrist, and then handed it to him.

Jerome shoved the garment bag off his lap and wound the scarf around his wrist, scowling.

“If you or anyone else touches this again,” he said, pulling her own gun on her, “ _well_. Don’t.”

“You were clutchin’ that in your sleep all day,” Jeri said, turning to go. “Must miss someone.”

Jerome started to change in a fit of temper, but by the time he was fully dressed, he felt better.

“Sorry for the, uh,” he gestured at the gun on the sofa when Jeri came back. “How’s it look?”

Jeri sat down in front of the mirror, picking up her lip-liner as she considered his reflection.

“Whoever the lucky duck is,” she said, winking at him as she applied it with practiced ease, “all they’re gonna have eyes for is that tacky-ass pocket square.”

Crossing the room until he’d stepped up to Jeri’s shoulder, Jerome touched Five’s folded scarf.

“Didn’t think I’d be saying this,” he chuckled, tapping the mirror with his knife, “but you’re a hoot.”

“Shucks,” Jeri said, continuing with bold strokes. “Now, would you leave this old broad alone?”

For an hour and change after Jeri left to take the stage, Jerome flipped through every newspaper on the end-table. Dull, dull, _dull_ —at least until he found the latest on his escape.

Valerie Vale had asked Bruce and Jeremiah to comment. Disappointingly, they had declined.

Above the din echoing back the maze that hid him, Jerome wouldn’t have heard the ruckus if Jeri hadn’t barged through the door. Wild-eyed and out of breath, she yanked him off the sofa.

“I sure as fuck hope you’ve got that knife,” she said, grabbing the gun before dragging him out.

“I appreciate…whatever it is you’re trying to do,” Jerome said, yanking his wrist free of her grasp, following her through further uncharted halls, “but seriously, _what_ is it?”

“There’s, like, six nut-jobs on the floor lookin’ for you,” Jeri panted. “Someone turned Judas.”

Clicking his tongue, Jerome drew the knife from his pocket. “Should’ve paid Big Greg better.”

“Dammit, didn’t wanna have to fire that dude,” Jeri lamented, rushing at an ill-lit dead end until she hit the wall with her shoulder. “And by fire, I mean kill. After you!”

The door opened from the outside, flanked by two of Jeri’s security staff, but they were too late.

Six men that Jerome could _see_ stormed the alley. Two of them gunned down the guards.

Jerome froze in the doorway with Jeri cursing beside him, eyeing their odds of survival. Not great.

At least not until one of the gunmen had his neck snapped from behind and fell, heavy as a sack of bricks. His attacker grabbed the gun off the ground, light on their feet, and shot the other gunman with less than a split-second to take aim.

Another two of the remaining rabblerousers went down before Jerome could parse what was happening. The masked figure in profile before him and Jeri— _shielding_ them—wore a tight-fitting black top and knee-length black tulle skirt. Black fishnets, oxblood combat boots.

“Don’t judge,” Five warned, keeping his eyes on the remaining men. “I came right from work.”

“Bad news travels fast,” said Jerome, knowing full well the Foxglove was one street over. “Judge, precious? Why would I? You look real pretty.”

“ _Oooh_ ,” Jeri remarked, watching as Five engaged the remaining two in brutally swift hand-to-hand combat. “This makes a _whole_ lotta sense.”

From the sound of things, Five had just slit the last guy’s throat with his own switchblade. He got to his feet and dropped the knife—mask hanging off his right ear by its elastic, badly winded.

There was a dash of blood across Five’s lips. He ditched the mask, fixed his hair, and smiled.

“Quit starin’,” Jeri tutted, giving Jerome a shove between the shoulder blades. “Go get him.”

Five didn’t budge, but he did brush his hands off on his skirt. “I looked everywhere for you.”

Jerome nodded, biting the inside of his lip as he strode right up to Five and kissed his cheek.

“Can’t ask you to forgive me, can I,” he said, thankfully a moot point as Five grabbed his tie.

“Maybe not,” Five said between blood-slick kisses he pressed to Jerome’s mouth, “but I will.”

Resting his forehead against Five’s, Jerome closed his eyes on the slightest trace of tears.

“You should’ve killed me down there and left me for every last cockroach in Indian Hill.”

“I might still be dying,” Five said quietly, hands fisting on Jerome’s lapels. “Just don’t know.”

“The way I roll,” Jerome sighed, stroking his hair, “do you think _I’m_ long for this world?”

Five slid his arms around Jerome. He put his head on Jerome’s shoulder, sagging against him.

“Could think of worse ways to go,” he murmured, “than having the time of my life with you.”

Jerome kissed Five again, letting Five worry at his lower lip until the cut there reopened.

“This kind of thing isn’t easy for me.  If you can be patient, I’ll explain as much as I can.”

“I don’t think you realize…”  Five shook his head, pensive.  “It makes plenty of sense.”

“Hate to break it to you,” Jerome said sadly, “but I’m gonna have to hide a while longer.”

“You’re not going to do this alone,” insisted Five, with fierce resolve.  “I’ll keep you safe.”

“Who am I to argue with that,” Jerome replied.  “You got a plan?  I’m all ears, princess.”

Jeri was still watching them, silhouetted in the doorway’s pleasingly sinister glow.

“Glory Hallelujah! I’ll spread the Good Word,” she said, winking when Five turned his head to look at her. “You’re with us while you’re with us. Ain’t nobody gonna mess with princess here ever again, don’t worry about that. What’s your name, kid?”

“This is Five,” Jerome told her, grinning as he gathered Five close. “I’d like to see them try.”


	5. Runaways

Jeri’s car was one of those 1990s Station Wagons with faux-wood paneled sides. It rattled ominously as they sped across Crown Point Bridge.

Jerome clutched at Five as they lay curled, facing each other, in the cargo area. They hadn’t spoken since Jeri hustled them out of the alley.

“Hey-o, Five!” Jeri shouted over her shoulder. “Where’d you say this abandoned building is?”

“Next to the old brewery!” Five shouted back. His fingers snagged on the improvised pocket square, which he pulled loose. “My scarf?”

Nodding, Jerome squeezed his eyes shut as Jeri took the next turn at breakneck speed. “Yup.”

Five kissed him hungrily, pressing the cotton against Jerome’s cheek. “You’re fucking sweet.”

Jerome pulled Five tighter against him, gasping as Five hitched a leg around Jerome’s waist.

“Not really,” he mumbled, running his palm from Five’s fishnet-covered calf up to his knee.

With a low, happy murmur, Five tugged Jerome’s hand under the loose, gauzy folds of his skirt. He splayed Jerome’s fingers against his thigh.

“Kids,” Jeri warned, “keep your hands to yourselves, or I’m gonna have to explain this to Captain Jimbo or somebody when we get pulled over.”

Trembling, Jerome slid his hand from beneath Five’s and palmed appreciatively at Five’s ass.

Five stopped kissing Jerome just long enough to respond. “No, you won’t. I’ll just kill them.”

At the thought of watching Five do what he did best for a second time that night, Jerome stiffened. He’d gone half-hard in his pants.

“What?” Five murmured, twisting so he could slide his other thigh between Jerome’s. “Oh.”

“Dammit, precious—” Jerome hissed, pulling Five’s hips tighter against him “—feels nice.”

Five quivered, struggling to hold still. “If we keep doing this,” he whispered, “m’gonna…”

“Makes two of us,” Jerome agreed shakily, withdrawing his hand, smoothing Five’s skirt.

“Almost there!” Jeri warned. “I’ll ditch your derrieres if you’re indecent, swear to God!”

Before Jerome and Five could untangle themselves, Jeri screeching to a halt did it for them.

“Need to grab everything we can carry,” Five said, stealing another kiss. “C’mon, let’s go.”

“Nah-ah-ah,” Jeri said, turning around as Five kicked the door open, jumped out, and reached for Jerome’s hand. “Your gentleman friend’s too handsome. He’ll draw attention. Better leave him here while you get stuff. You’re strong enough to carry it all, yeah?”

“Of course,” Five agreed waspishly. He bent and stole one more kiss before slamming the door.

Jerome sat up in response to Jeri leaning into the back and waving at him. “Handsome, huh?”

“Pretty little thing’s got you _real_ hot and bothered,” she snapped. “I need you to focus.”

“I’m painfully aware,” Jerome retorted, hoping it was too dark for her to tell he was blushing.

“Not that it’s any of my business, except—oh, yeah, _wait_ , I’m hauling your asses to my fucking safe house, so it kind of is. How old are you?”

Jerome bristled at her nerve. “Twenty-four next week. Wait, the twenty-first. That's tomorrow.”

Jeri nodded thoughtfully, eyes distant. “And Five’s what—barely legal, even here in Jersey?”

“Seventeen last month, but it’s complicated given he was born and raised in a lab,” Jerome said. “I wouldn’t ask him about that if I were you.”

“Screw around all you want as long as it’s not in my damn car,” Jeri sighed, “but there’s stuff you better consider about Five. Dressin’ like that for work at the Foxglove is a thing—for boys, girls, everyone in between. Thing is, they don’t enforce it like you’d think.”

“I don’t see what this has to do with running for our lives,” Jerome said, nervously acerbic.

Jeri fixed him with a deadpan look. “Remember how Five asked you not to judge? Passed it off as a joke? J, he’s _serious_. Your princess is tryin’ to figure himself out, and you better not be a dick about it.”

Jerome regarded Jeri coolly. If she didn’t realize both Haly’s and Arkham had exposed him to just about every kind of person under the sun...

“I don’t care what Five _is_ ,” he said. “I care that he’s alive, and I care that he’s with me.”

Mulling that over for a few seconds, Jeri nodded—once up and down—before offering her hand.

“Good enough for me, boss,” she cackled, shaking Jerome’s hand when he took hers. “He’ll just kill you if you try anything he doesn’t like.”

Jerome rolled his eyes, relieved when Five emerged from the building with a backpack and two trash bags stuffed full enough to burst. Jerome opened the door, and then helped Five load.

With space more limited than before, they had to sit up. Five rummaged in one of the bags. He pulled out a blanket and draped it over their heads.

“You think of everything, don’t you,” said Jerome, admiringly, as Five shifted to straddle his lap.

“Only what’s important,” Five replied. He lay his head on Jerome’s shoulder, hugging him tight.

“We used to make blanket forts like this,” Jerome said, the memory resurfacing out of nowhere.

“You and Jeremiah?” Five asked, rubbing Jerome’s tense shoulders. “Need to talk about it?”

“Nah,” Jerome said, nuzzling Five’s sweat-damp temple. “Got everything I need right here.”

Wherever Jeri’s safe house was located, the drive took about two hours. Five was asleep in Jerome’s arms by the time Jeri finally parked the car.

“You guys got the devil’s own luck,” Jeri said as she opened the back door. “C’mon, lose that silly-ass blanket. Nobody’s gonna see you.”

Five threw the blanket off them, rubbing his eyes. He wobbled out of the car, and then helped Jerome step into the fresh, pine-bitten air.

“Into the woods, huh,” Jerome remarked, studying their surroundings as Five clutched his hand.

“This place belonged to my parents,” Jeri sniffed, hands on her hips as she regarded the lichen-patched cabin. “Way too bougie for my taste.”

“How long do you think we can stay,” Five said, regarding her gravely, “before somebody questions you? Before they trace us here?”

“Dunno,” Jeri said. “Maybe three days, maybe three weeks, maybe three years. All I know’s that you gotta stay till I figure out somethin’ better.”

Jerome tilted his head at her, taking Five’s backpack off her hands. “Why did you help me?”

“I oughta ask myself the same question,” Jeri mused, “because who in their right mind takes that kinda risk when it turns out the clown posse’s mighty leader is just a dumbass kid?”

“Loyalty’s more to your credit than confidence in the cause,” Jerome sighed. “I’ll give you that.”

“Hey,” Jeri said, setting a hand on Five’s shoulder. “I was gonna say I met your brother once, but now I’m not so sure I see the resemblance.”

“He’s more like a distant cousin,” Five said, his free hand flying up to cover hers. “Estranged.”

“If this goes pear-shaped and you end up alone, come see me. I always got work for double-threats who can shoot _and_ break necks.”

Five shook his head. “I won’t end up alone,” he said. “We’re in this together or not at all.”

Shifting her gaze to Jerome, Jeri took a set of keys from her skirt pocket and gave it to him.

“You have absolutely no idea,” she said pointedly, “how much fuckin’ trouble you’re in.”

Jerome shouldered the backpack. He apologetically released Five’s hand and nodded at the trash bags. “This place got lights? Water?”

“Both,” Jeri replied, already opening the driver’s side door. “Good luck. I’ll be in touch.”

Seconds later, she was gone, her car no more than a flash of movement between the trees.

“Jerome,” Five said, taking one trash bag in each hand, “we should get this stuff inside.”

They left their shoes and luggage next to the door, locked it behind them, and did a quick sweep. Dusty, but well-renovated.

Five led Jerome into the bedroom, turned on the lamp, and pressed him to sit on the edge of the mattress. Five lifted his shirt ceremoniously, exposing the scars on his abdomen and side.

“I want you to see,” he said shrugging the shirt over his head. “You didn’t get to the other night.”

Jerome leaned up, kissing him softly on the mouth. “I’d like that, princess. I’d like that a lot.”

Five nodded and turned his back, dropping his shirt. The scar down the length of his spine was fully visible as he shimmied out of the skirt and let it fall. Underthings and fishnets last, exposing the two neat, parallel scars on his lower back.

Jerome pulled him close and kissed him. “Don’t care how many you’ve got. Help me outta this?”

Letting someone help him undress was uncomfortable, but when Jerome saw the way Five took in the sight of him, he understood something. That was how _he_ looked at _Five_.

Turning down the covers, Jerome crawled under and tugged Five along with him. Five’s skin was smooth and warm, except where scar tissue interrupted. Jerome worshipped it.

Five came while they were kissing, with Jerome’s fingers in his hair and his trembling legs wrapped around Jerome’s waist. For as long as it seemed to last, he was achingly quiet.

Jerome let Five kiss down his chest. Let his head fall back when Five, slowing his hand on Jerome’s cock, kissed the tip of him. He dipped his tongue gently into Jerome’s slit.

Jerome came with Five’s head cradled against his belly, gasping Five’s name for the joy of it.

Afterward, Five licked Jerome clean while Jerome played with his hair, and then crawled up the length of Jerome’s body. He sprawled on top of Jerome, sticky and content.

“D’you wanna…” Jerome swallowed, nuzzling the bite-mark he’d left on Five a few days before. “Y’know. Be my boy, or…or my girl, or my…whatever kind of person you are?”

Five was staring at Jerome. The bright hint of tears in his eyes spilled over, glossing his cheeks.

“Yes,” he said, bursting into startled laughter that devolved into hiccupping sobs. He touched the mark he’d left on Jerome’s collarbone. “I want—I want to be your everything.”

Jerome nodded, wiping Five’s cheeks with the hem of the sheet. His person, his _everything_.

“You wear whatever you want, princess. Whenever you want. I’m already the luckiest guy—well, I dunno if I’m alive or undead, but you get my drift.” He gathered Five closer, lost for a moment in Five’s sweet-smelling hair. “You keep me posted, okay? I’m probably gonna hurt you over plenty of other stuff without meaning to, but I don’t wanna fuck up _that_.”

“I have a birth certificate,” Five said. “It’s in one of those folders, in my backpack. I was too important for the Court to leave untraceable.” He exhaled brokenly. “Neither gender-marker is checked off. They must’ve been trying to decide—I looked _enough_ like a boy, I guess. One of those files, it…documents a chromosomal anomaly. 46,XX/46,XY chimerism.”

Jerome felt helpless. Five was sobbing, his slim frame shaking Jerome and the entire mattress.

“Precious, _shhh_ ,” he whispered, rubbing Five’s back. “I don’t care about that. You’re my princess, so I’m gonna treat you like one. Jeri gave me this shovel talk about letting you be _you_. That’s all I want for us both, you know?”

Five relaxed. “It’s a good thing you’re crazy. Sane people don’t even know what to do with that.” He kissed Jerome’s cheek. “You’re _my_ crazy.”

The tightness in Jerome’s chest dissolved. If this was acceptance, then it was miraculous. He didn’t have to hide that he was overwhelmed.

“If we don’t die,” Jerome said, petting Five’s hair, “whether we stay fugitives, or end up in Arkham…” The thought caught in his throat, just knowing they’d be together no matter what. “I’m thinking, maybe let’s…”

“Get married?” Five teased, his grin so wide Jerome could feel it against his shoulder. “Sap.”

“One thing at a time,” Jerome said, grinning at the cracked-plaster ceiling. “So what if I am?”


	6. Reassurance

Five had slept this deeply, this dreamlessly, for as long as he could remember. Waking with his shoulders warmed by sunlight for the first time in his life was a wonder. He opened his eyes.

Jerome was the source of warmth against his chest, rubbing Five’s back lightly as he held him.

“Hear that?” Jerome asked, kissing Five’s temple. “Birds. What’ll they think of next, huh?”

Curling tighter into him, Five tucked his head beneath Jerome’s chin. “You’re…still here.”

“You don’t snore,” Jerome said, stroking Five’s hair. “Shouldn’t have left you the other morning.”

Five nodded in agreement, too relieved to comment. “I don’t know if you do. Don’t remember.”

“Didn’t before,” said Jerome, working a finger between Five’s lips and his neck. “After that…”

Nuzzling the knife-scar, Five pulled Jerome’s hand aside and ran his tongue over the raised flesh.

“They sometimes let me have newspapers,” he said softly. “I read about Theo Galavan killing you.”

“It’s a badge of honor, sure,” Jerome replied, shivering, “but that bite you gave me means more.”

“Our first night,” Five whispered, “you said you wanted to mark me up.” He hesitated. “How?”

Jerome released a startled breath, and then rolled onto his back so Five had to sprawl over him.

“First, I’m gonna fix the bite I gave _you_. So it’ll scar, too. Once we’ve got stuff for it.”

Five brushed Jerome’s hair back from his scarred forehead. “I heal without getting infected.”

“Yeah, I know, you said,” Jerome sighed, “but I don’t. And I want this fun-fest to be mutual.”

Stung at the refusal, Five closed his eyes and breathed harshly, in and out, until the risk of tears passed. He’d gotten Jerome back. He was _lucky_.

Jerome ran his thumbs along Five’s cheekbones. “That’s a rain-check, not a rejection. Got it?”

“I’m a bitch,” Five hiccupped, blinking down at Jerome through his tears. “I don’t deserve—”

“Don’t you dare,” Jerome cut in, taking his turn to look stricken. “I never should’ve said that.”

Shrugging, Five stared down at him, watery and miserable. “I’m too selfish. It’s a problem.”

Jerome shook his head, sliding his thumb along Five’s lower lip. “Would somebody selfish—” he pressed inward until Five licked it “—do what you did for me last night?”

“Didn’t do it right,” Five mumbled. He sucked the tip of Jerome’s thumb further into his mouth.

Jerome sighed and nuzzled Five’s jaw, tapping behind Five’s teeth so Five would release him. He rolled Five onto his back, the solid press of his body delicious and dizzying.

“You wanna find out what that felt like, princess?” he murmured against Five’s cheek. “Want me to, uh…” He shifted his hips against Five’s, breath hitching. “Suck you off?”

Five trembled, closing his eyes tightly. He was hard already, but Jerome wasn’t even close.

“Only if you want,” Five insisted, gasping when Jerome lapped at the hollow of his throat.

“Pretty little thing,” Jerome murmured, kissing down Five’s chest. “Of course I wanna.”

Five twisted his fingers in the pillowcase and moaned when Jerome took the tip of Five’s erection in his mouth. Jerome hummed in faint surprise, working his tongue tenderly against Five’s slit.

“ _Don’t_ ,” Five whimpered, tugging at Jerome’s hair, “for too much longer, unless—”

“I wanna let you do this?” Jerome asked, angling Five’s cock to rest against his scarred cheek. He continued to stroke it just the way Five liked—slow, but demanding. “C’mon, precious.”

Five had never understood the appeal of coming on someone’s face. But knowing he’d get to mark Jerome like this—that Jerome  _wanted_  to be marked where he was marked already—was enough to send him shuddering into climax.

Jerome was talking to him, low and affectionate, rubbing the mess over Five’s skin and his own.

“I’m,” Five gasped when he could find his breath again, “not really…normal, you probably noticed.” He moaned weakly when Jerome gave him a flirtatious lick. “Too…small, I guess. Compared to you. Maybe it’s better that I don’t…well. It’s never very much.”

Jerome sucked Five’s still half-hard cock into his mouth, eyes closed in concentration as he took all of him with ease. He hummed again, pleased instead of surprised, and kept sucking.

Five groaned, arching off the bed. This happened sometimes, aftershocks so intense he wasn’t sure that he _wasn’t_ coming again. He clutched Jerome’s shoulders, nails digging in.

“You’re fine,” Jerome concluded, wiping his mouth on the sheet once Five was done. “Not too much for me to handle. Goldilocks thing. Just right.”

Five started to laugh, struck by the ridiculousness of the situation. They might not survive the week, much less the day. Yet here they were: hiding in a safe house too close to Gotham, unable to keep their hands and mouths off each other.

Jerome crawled up so he could settle on top of Five. He was having a difficult time kissing Five properly, because he was laughing now, too. Still not hard, but lazy and satisfied.

Five wanted to say that he loved Jerome, the sentiment achingly, unfairly sudden. He’d made the mistake of thinking he cared about Selina, of telling her. This was more than just care, and the stakes were higher. He bit his tongue.

“Too early to be awake,” Five mumbled instead. “If you’re okay, we could sleep more.”

Jerome rolled onto his back, tugging Five’s arm across his belly. “I’m down,” he yawned.

Five watched Jerome until his breathing evened out, running his fingers from Jerome’s ribcage down to his hip. He could feel other scars here and there, wanted to possess them all.

Knocking at the front door, distant and tentative, took Five by surprise. He got up, instantly alert. He went to the living room, rummaged in the trash bags until he found his shabby kimono, and put it on. He wasn’t naked anymore, and he could move in it.

Last, Five took the Ladysmith that Selina had left behind out of his backpack. He felt bad about having lied to Jerome about whether or not he had a gun, but at the time he hadn’t fully trusted him.

Jeri’s expression when he opened the door and stuck the gun in her face was absolutely priceless.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Five said, lowering the weapon, slipping it in his pocket. “It’s you. Come in.”

“I'm glad you can kick ass right outta bed,” Jeri sighed, tottering inside with about five plastic grocery bags dangling from each hand. “ _Oof_. Thought my wrists were gonna snap.”

“What’s all of this?” Five asked, curiously sorting through one of the bags. He held up a box of Eggos, pleased that it was still ice-cold. “Breakfast?”

“Eat ’em whenever you want, I’m not your mom,” Jeri sighed, watching him continue to rummage. “There’s mostly canned and frozen stuff, but I got some bananas and oranges for you, too. Apples, pears. Shit like that. There’s some bread. Butter, jam. I don’t even know what young folks like these days. Instant oatmeal, one of those four-flavor packs.”

Five stopped investigating the groceries long enough to stare at her. “Why are you doing this?”

“You heard what I told your boyfriend last night,” Jeri said. “You’re just a coupla dumb kids.”

“We kill people,” Five said, running across a small, white paper bag with the supermarket’s pharmacy logo on it. He picked out the staples and peered inside. “Antibiotics and condoms?”

“Number one, I kill people, too, in case that wasn’t clear,” Jeri said. “Number two, I have no idea what injuries you might be hiding—and I sure as hell don’t think you’ve been using those.”

Five shook his head and clutched the bag to his chest, embarrassed. “We haven’t really…yet?”

“So they’re for when you do,” Jeri said, shrugging. “Go to town. Like I said to J, I don’t care what you do, as long as you ain’t doin’ it in the back of my car.” She set her hand on the doorknob. “I mean, since today’s his birthday, I thought—

“Birthday,” Five echoed, his grasp on the bag threatening breakage of its contents. “Jerome’s?”

“Oh boy,” Jeri sighed, already stepping onto the porch. “You better start talking to each other.”

“Yeah,” Five agreed, stepping onto the threshold. “Thank you. Sorry if I’m rude, it’s just—I’m not used to people.” He offered her a tentative smile. “Is there…any news?”

“The media’s hounding Arkham and Wayne Manor, but it’s all kinds of no-comment, believe me,” Jeri said. “And let’s not even _talk_ about Penguin.”

Five tilted his head. “Oswald Cobblepot,” he said slowly. “What’s his opinion on the matter?”

“He’s ripshit,” Jeri replied. “It’s almost like that time he was hunting down Strange’s monsters.”

“I’m one of them,” Five said, chest seizing with unwelcome anxiety. “I escaped with the rest.”

“Well, this time, there’s just the two of you,” Jeri said wistfully. “You and your young man.”

Five thought about what he’d do if Penguin’s entire gang found them. Leave as few of them alive as possible, for a start. Stick a knife in Cobblepot’s heart for having killed his best shot at getting what answers the Indian Hill files couldn’t give him.

As for what he’d do if Bruce Wayne and Jeremiah Valeska had the nerve to come with them…

Jeri set a hand on Five’s shoulder, startling him out of his reverie. “Hey, kid. You doin’ okay?”

“I’m fine,” Five insisted, covering her hand with his. “I’ll keep him safe for you. I promise.”

“Christ, you’re young,” Jeri said with undisguised sadness. “No, you keep him safe for _you_.”

Five nodded and released her hand. “It’s that—you seem, just. Like he’s meant a lot to you.”

Jeri’s expression clouded, her eyes hard. She looked even older without all of her make-up.

“He’s meant something to a lot of people,” she said. “I thought maybe if I could give people a place to remember him, they’d hang onto hope. Now that he’s back and in nothin’ but trouble, anywhere _but_ where they’d like him to be…”

“They’re disappointed in him,” Five said, understanding too well. “I know what it’s like to be a disappointment. That’s one of the reasons why…” He swallowed. “ _You_ know.”

“This ain’t about Jerome-the-legend,” Jeri said, stepping off the porch. “It’s about Jerome-the-too-big-for-his-britches. Jerome-the-lost-boy. Thank fuckin’ God he found _you_.”

Five watched her get in the car. He didn’t go back inside until the car had vanished through the trees. He put the pharmacy packet back inside one of the shopping bags. He took stock of the several bags he hadn’t had the chance to evaluate. 

There were sweets, almost too many. Pop-Tarts and bakery cupcakes. Half a dozen plain chocolate bars. Fruit snacks Five could remember being given on rare occasions as a treat. Packs of juice boxes that Five had sometimes bought and kept in the break room at work.

When Five walked into the bedroom, Jerome stirred and mumbled something unintelligible. Five climbed back into bed as Jerome’s questioning eyes fluttered open. He scooted close and took the Ladysmith out of his pocket, turning it side to side in the late-morning light.

“I lied,” Five said unhappily, reaching across him to set it on the nightstand. “I _do_ have a gun.”

“That’s a relief, princess,” Jerome said, painstakingly arranging Five’s hair against his shoulder.

“Jeri came with groceries,” Five went on, bending low so his hair hung around Jerome’s face.

“She’s gonna take real good care of us,” Jerome reassured him. “Don’t have a damn clue why.”

“Jerome,” Five said, unfolding his body, tugging the covers over them, “today’s your birthday.”

Jerome nodded, cupping Five’s cheek as he drew him down for a kiss. “It’s not important.”

“It _is_ ,” Five insisted, kissing him slow and thorough. “Everything about you matters to me.”

“That’s nice,” Jerome mumbled, using the next kiss to mask what felt like a surge of emotion.

“There’s waffles,” Five said, nuzzling Jerome’s damp cheeks. “I’m gonna make you breakfast.”


	7. Reconnaissance

The next few days brought thunderstorms and temperatures in the forties, a stark contrast to the stifling heat they’d had for the entirety of Jerome’s birthday. They hid under the covers, kissing and talking until hunger forced them into the kitchen for snacks.

Although Five had shown Jerome what Jeri had included with the groceries, neither of them suggested making use of those supplies. They took long, hot showers instead, enamored of the easy clean-up and well-stocked first aid kit.

The bite on Five’s neck that Jerome had revisited was a dull, thrilling throb beneath the Tegaderm bandage. In turn, Five had taken a knife to the right side of Jerome’s abdomen and given him an ornate, swirling _5_ like one he’d seen in a book.

Jerome had taken the knife willingly when Five handed it over, had given Five precisely what he’d asked.  The parallel scars on Five's abdomen now formed the backbone of a _J_ and the first stroke of a _V_ , overwritten as water sluiced the blood away.

They raided the entertainment center and agreed on a couple of films that appealed. It took an hour to get the DVD player to work.

_Casablanca_ , Jerome had liked as a kid, so Five fed him chips while they watched. They agreed Rick and Renault needed to sort out their shit.

 _The Land Before Time_ made Five cry, but he couldn’t remember whether it was because he’d seen it as a child in the lab, or because it was just plain sad. Jerome didn’t have much to say about the film, but he brushed Five’s hair until Five fell asleep.

On Friday morning— _5/25/18_ , according to the calendar Jeri had included with the food—the weather turned sunny again. Cloudless, idyllic skies.

Jerome kissed Five awake, coaxed him to sit up, and stuck a mug of tea in his hands. He looked handsome in the red flannel robe he’d found.

“S’too early,” Five complained into his Earl Grey, already gulping it. “Come back to bed.”

“No can do, sweet pea,” Jerome said, stealing a sip. He made a face. “Breakfast’s served.”

Five devoured several strawberry Pop-Tarts and a glass of orange juice while Jerome munched his on the fly. He huddled in his kimono, grumpy.

Jerome made ham sandwiches, bagging them up with pieces of fruit. He put those in Five’s backpack along with the cupcakes and juice boxes.

Sticking the last piece of Pop-Tart in his mouth, Five pulled his hair back, careless and rushed.

“Are we going somewhere?” he asked, licking sugary traces from his fingers. “Jeri said not to.”

“Jeri’s not here,” Jerome said, coming over to the table. He bent and kissed Five’s forehead. “We need to know where we are, precious. If something forces us to make a run for it—”

“Right, right,” Five agreed, abashed that he hadn’t thought of such a contingency. “Clothes?”

Jerome tugged Five out of the chair and picked him up. “Hate to say it, but yeah.”

Slung over Jerome’s shoulder, Five sulked as Jerome carried him to the bedroom.

Five put on his most beaten-up pair of black jeans. Frustrated, he shrugged into his thin, plain black tee that had bleach-stains. He switched between his oxblood Docs and steel-toed black work boots until Jerome set the Docs out of his reach and pulled him to his feet.

“You look hot, princess,” Jerome said, holding Five until he calmed down. “I’m just a mess.”

“ _My_ mess.” Five plucked at the back of Jerome’s camouflage shirt. “Where’d this…”

“Hall closet’s full of stuff in my size,” Jerome said. “You’d swim in it. How ’bout the hat?”

Five stepped back and fussed with the angle of the Philadelphia Phillies cap Jerome had on.

“D’you think this means we’re in Eastern PA?” he asked curiously. “Across the state border?”

“Could be,” Jerome said, dragging Five out to the closet, which was still open. “Let’s flesh out your disguise, too,” he said, producing a black cotton beanie. He put it on Five’s head, careful to make sure all of his hair was under it. “Wowza. Now I don’t wanna go out.”

“Your hair’s the bigger give-away,” Five said, yanking the beanie off his head. He swapped his hat with Jerome’s, making sure none of Jerome’s ginger was showing. “That’s better.”

“Guess I’m gonna need your scarf, huh,” Jerome sighed with distaste. “It’s like eighty degrees.”

“Just keep it around your neck,” Five said, running to fetch it from the peg. “You can wrap it around your face if we see or hear anyone coming. People with allergies do that.” He grabbed his navy star-patterned one as an afterthought. “I’ll do the same with this.”

“Most people with allergies don’t look like outlaws,” Jerome said, resigned, donning the scarf.

Five shrugged and wrapped the navy-with-stars around his own neck. “But we are outlaws.”

“There’s no sunscreen,” Jerome said warningly, “so unless we stick to the trees, we’ll burn.”

Raiding the closet, Five came up with a tan chore jacket for Jerome and a denim overshirt for himself.

“Good enough for jazz,” Jerome said, tugging Five in by the waist. “Did I mention you’re hot?”

“Maybe not,” Five said, grinning at him, completely besotted. “I might need to hear it again.”

Using the old aluminum-cased compass that Jerome had dug up somewhere, they walked due north into the woods. Five had let Jerome carry the backpack on the condition they held hands.

“I was gonna hold your hand anyway,” Jerome confided after about ten minutes in which they’d both done nothing but take in bright, shadow-dappled world around them. “Duh.”

“Never seen anything like this,” Five said. “The closest I’ve been to a forest is Robinson Park.”

“That’s a shame,” Jerome said, sliding his arm gingerly around Five’s waist. “I saw lots of woods growing up. We’d set up camp right at the edge of ’em if the fairgrounds were adjacent, which was pretty often.” He hugged Five as they walked. “Never ever?”

Five shook his head, entranced at the sight of some shin-high white flowers just ahead of them.

“They’re so strange,” Five said, apologetically disengaging from Jerome so he could approach the edge of the patch. Each plant had three dark, glossy leaves sprouting from its stalk, and each lone white flower had three petals with bloody magenta streaks at its heart. “They let me have some plants in the lab,” he said, gathering half a dozen of the blooms, “and a fish.”

“Painted lady,” Jerome said, staring at the blooms as Five offered him the impromptu bouquet.

“Huh?” Five asked, tucking the flowers in Jerome’s outer breast pocket when he didn’t move.

“That’s what those are called,” Jerome replied. “It’s what my…” He hardened the set of his jaw. “What Mr. Know-It-All with his field guides called them. There was a fancier-sounding name. Anyway, can’t remember.” He kissed Five’s cheek. “We’re in PA.”

“You know from the flowers?” Five asked in admiration. “Is that the only place they grow?”

“Nah, but it’s the only place I ever saw ’em in the Mid-Atlantic,” Jerome said. “Given the length of drive it was to get here, other features of the landscape, blah blah _blah_ …” He shrugged. “Smallest common denominator.”

“You’re really smart,” Five said, impulsively kissing him on the mouth. “ _That’s_ hot.”

Jerome looked slightly dazed when Five backed him against the nearest tree. “You think so?”

“I know it’s not safe,” Five said, pinning him, whispering in his ear, “but I’d have you right here.”

“Precious,” Jerome rasped, pleasingly weak-kneed against Five, “let’s just…bit further, okay?”

Five nodded and stepped back, pulling Jerome along by his hands. “Picnic first,” he agreed.

They walked for another half an hour. Five stopped too often to stare at birds, chipmunks, and other eye-catching plants.

Jerome didn’t protest, checking the compass at intervals.

Overheated and sullen by the time the trees had begun to thin, he said, “We should head back.”

“Wait,” Five said, hauling him toward the break in the clearing, “I want to see what’s there.”

What was there made them both stop and stare in wonder. Whether the gouged-out hollow had been a rock quarry or some other kind of mining operation, it had been abandoned.

The result was a pond full of vivid blue-green water, the surface calm and reflecting the rock-face embankments on the far side. Just before them, sandy scree patched here and there with grassy weeds sloped down to the shore.

Jerome curtly shook Five’s hand to get his attention back. “Looks kinda peaceful, doesn’t it?”

Five looked at him, hoping he’d gotten the hang of wide, pleading eyes. “Can we eat here?”

Grinning, Jerome unshouldered Five’s backpack. “Don’t see why not. Brought a blanket.”

They spread the blanket and flopped down, more tired than either of them had realized.

Five shed the Phillies hat, the denim jacket, and took off his boots.

Jerome watched Five let down his hair and re-sweep it into the elastic, and then followed suit.

Having lunch in contented silence was as comforting as it was comfortable. Five noticed that Jerome had left the crusts of his sandwich, and ate them while Jerome wasn’t looking.

Drowsy after the sugar-rush of juice boxes and cupcakes for dessert, they lay back and watched the sky for a while. Enough placid clouds had rolled in that they made a game of picking out shapes. Five tended to see objects and landscapes where Jerome saw living things.

After a little while, Five kissed the corner of Jerome’s mouth until he woke from his doze.

Jerome sat up, watching as Five stripped out of his shirt. And then his jeans, and his socks and briefs, naked under Jerome’s reverent scrutiny.

“Swim with me?” Five asked, dropping into a crouch beside him. He tugged at Jerome’s shirt.

Casting about to make sure no one else had arrived, Jerome sighed and let Five peel it off him.

Toward the middle of the pool, neither of them could touch bottom. Jerome spent most of his time treading water while Five floated on his back. His watchfulness was disarming.

They only made it partway back to shore before Five decided to splash Jerome, just to see what he’d do. The ensuing tussle left them clutching at each other in chest-deep water.

Five hid his face against Jerome’s shoulder, trying to breathe through his infuriatingly sudden arousal. He hated proving, time and again, how little self-control he really had.

Jerome licked some water droplets off Five’s ear and let his hair down, catching the elastic around his wrist. He shifted his grasp from Five’s elbows around to his lower back.

“You don’t need to feel bad.” He combed his fingers through Five’s wet hair. “Can’t tell you how much it means. That you want this. Want _me_.”

At this angle—buoyed by breeze-driven waves—pressing against Jerome’s hard, lean body made Five flush with want. He wound his arms around Jerome’s neck, shivering at the feel of him.

“ _Jerome_ ,” Five gasped, mortified at how swiftly his gut seized with pleasure. “Gonna come.”

“ _Shhh_ , princess.” Jerome held Five tight against him as Five’s knees buckled. “Feels nice?”

Five moaned against Jerome’s shoulder, the contrast between harsh sunlight and cool water electrifying as he rode it out. He wanted this as often Jerome would have him.

“Better than,” he panted, finding his footing again in the silt and gravel. “Jerome, this…it’s…”

“Used to think there was nothing I enjoyed more than killing fools who deserve it,” Jerome said, kissing Five’s jaw. “I was wrong.”

Shivering with joy, Five kissed him back and took both of his hands, leading him toward shore.

Once they were mostly dry and halfway dressed, Jerome pulled the comb from Five’s backpack and used it to untangle Five’s hair. He told Five to sit still, and then proceeded to patiently braid the painted ladies into a sort of crown around his head.

As soon as Jerome finished, Five twisted around in his lap and said, “You learned in the circus?”

“Yeah, I learned a few things,” Jerome replied, tilting Five’s chin side to side. “Real pretty.”

Five smiled, but couldn’t help chewing his lip in trepidation. “You…did it for your mother?”

“When she couldn’t find anybody else, yeah,” Jerome said, shrugging. “I learned sleight of hand, how to throw knives—I’m even a crack shot because of those games.”

“You didn’t use a gun,” Five said, remembering the news story. “You used an axe. Why?”

Jerome tugged Five closer, pulling Five’s denim jacket forward to shield them from the wind.

“Because she deserved it. Would you believe me if I said it wasn’t just Mom, but her brother, too? Her lovers? The trapeze-act brats, older than me, who decided I was an easy target once that—that good-for-nothing _traitor_ left?”

Five didn’t blink. “I’d kill her for you if she wasn’t already dead. I’d kill all of them for you.”

Jerome kissed Five so urgently he couldn’t draw breath, kissed him until he could feel how hard Jerome was against his thigh.

Five pulled Jerome’s cock out of his boxers, fondling him. He was damp in Five’s grasp, not likely to last all that long.

“Fuck,” Jerome whimpered into Five’s mouth. “Your hands, precious. They’re just magic.”

Five knocked him back against the blanket, and then flipped the edge over them. He used his fingers until Jerome, shaking even harder than Five had, clutched at Five’s hips.

“I enjoy this, too,” Five said quietly, grinding down for the last few seconds it took to get him off.

After a while, Jerome blinked up at him. “Must’ve died again. Got sent to the wrong place.”

Between elated kisses, Five giggled until his sides hurt. Fortunately, Jerome wasn’t far behind.


	8. Reminders

After returning to the cabin, Five filled the bathtub with hot water and dragged Jerome into it.

Five didn’t want to wreck Jerome’s hard work on his hair, not yet, even though the flowers had begun to wilt. He also didn’t want their various lacerations to get infected as a consequence of their swim in the quarry, conscientious Tegaderm use notwithstanding.

Jerome scrubbed Five’s back with the washcloth and pressed kisses against his soapy neck.

“What happened to _sex is boring_?” Jerome teased, but it held an undertone of curiosity.

“Other people having sex is boring,” Five clarified, digging his thumbs into the arches of Jerome’s feet to work the tension out of them. “At the Foxglove, I saw…lots.”

“Bet you did,” Jerome said, tugging Five back to rest against him so he could wash Five’s chest.

“I never felt anything,” Five admitted, head tipped back against Jerome’s shoulder, staring at the ceiling. “I had crushes on a few of the guys who worked there, maybe a couple of the girls. It was just…abstract, and that was confusing. I saw them naked _all the time_.”

“Looks aren’t everything,” Jerome said, self-deprecatingly dry. “I know what you mean, though. The fact you’re drop-dead gorgeous is just icing.” He kissed Five’s damp temple, bumping his nose against it. “What’s up _here_ made me pay attention. Oh, and you almost killed me.”

Five snorted. “Yeah, if by that you mean my hair. You touched it the first chance you got.”

“Hey, I asked,” Jerome replied, dropping the washcloth in the water so he could run appreciative fingertips over Five’s ribs. “You said yes.”

“You were a gentleman,” Five agreed, turning his head to plant a kiss against Jerome’s cheek.

Jerome caught Five’s chin to keep him there, kissing him on the mouth. “You’re my princess.”

“I like when you call me that,” Five mumbled, his cheeks heating. “Never knew I wanted…”

“Never thought I’d find a pretty thing like you who’s into the same stuff I am,” Jerome said.

“What, murder?” Five teased mercilessly, smirking at him. “Stuff that…hurts really good?”

“Yeah, but that’s not everything,” Jerome said, tucking stray strands of hair behind Five’s ears. “There’s more to life than just mayhem. Needed to slow down a bit, you know?”

Five nodded, twisting around in Jerome’s arms, splashing some water over the side of the tub.

“I liked watching clouds with you,” he said, resting his cheek against Jerome’s shoulder. “I liked swimming with you, too. I liked everything we did.”

They stayed like that until the water cooled: Five straddling Jerome’s lap, Jerome holding him tight. Jerome helped Five out of the tub, dried them off, and then carried Five to bed. Cuddling and dozing in the evening sun was a worthwhile way to spend their next few hours.

When Five woke up, Jerome was dressed and making marks on a map he’d spread on the floor.

“Did you find where we are?” asked Five, getting out of bed, shedding a few petals as he went. He put on fresh clothes—underwear, black leggings, ankle socks, his favorite black tank top—before wandering to the bookshelf. “I’ll look up the flowers.”

“Yep,” Jerome said absently, noisily taking his highlighter to the map. “The quarry’s on here.”

Five selected a field guide with a bright yellow vinyl cover; he remembered having a copy in the surprisingly vast library the Court and Strange had provided for him at Indian Hill. He flipped through until he came to the section on plants with white blossoms—visually handy, that the sections were organized by color—and carried it over to where Jerome sat.

“Here,” Five said, dropping to his knees, setting the book next to the map. “ _Trillium undulatum_. Painted trillium, or painted lady. You were right.”

Jerome capped the marker, set it aside, and looked at Five’s discovery. He adjusted the blooms in Five’s hair, removing the few that had lost petals.

“Modest ambition,” he said. “Not the worst meaning you could’ve accidentally gone in for.”

“I don’t understand,” Five said, frowning as he shut the book. “What are you talking about?”

“That’s what those mean,” Jerome said, brushing along Five’s jaw. “Language of flowers stuff.”

“Even though Haly’s was awful,” Five replied, “sounds like you learned a lot growing up there.”

Jerome kissed Five’s forehead and patted his cheek. “Accurate. You getting hungry, princess?”

Five nodded, flipping through some more pages. “Want me to help you make something?”

“Dry pasta and jarred sauce only takes one set of hands,” Jerome said. “Read all you want.”

Taking the field guide over to the bed, Five flopped down and idly began to refresh his memory on North American flora. He listened to Jerome banging around the kitchen, comforted.

After about twenty minutes, Jeri’s peculiar knock sounded at the door. Five dashed to answer it.

“Pusheen footies, really? Are you always this sickeningly cute?” Jeri asked, looking Five up and down. “That’s how I’d dress my kid if I _had_ one.”

Five shrugged, showing her inside. “Doesn’t matter. I’m not dressing for anyone but myself.”

“Don’t even pretend you’re not dressin’ to please J, too,” Jeri said. “You figured out he likes it.”

“Happy coincidence,” Jerome said, turning away from the stove as Five led her into the kitchen.

“Jeri’s here,” Five announced, pulling out a chair for her at the table. “Can she stay for dinner?”

“Got some more stuff for ya out in the car,” Jeri said, wearily taking a seat. “Guess I could.”

Jerome carried the pot of finished angel hair over to the table, and then brought the sauce pan.

“The disciple returns,” he said, licking some marinara off his finger, taking a seat beside Five.

“I’m afraid there ain’t tidings of great joy,” sighed Jeri, while Five fetched plates and forks.

“Quick, like a band-aid,” Jerome said, visibly resisting the urge to take the job over from Five.

“Someone came around, askin’ me questions about the masked mystery girl that saved Jerome’s ass,” Jeri said, accepting the plate and fork Five handed her. “Black dude, sharp dresser. Guys ain’t usually my thing, but he was eye _candy_.”

Five felt a curious rush of pride, knowing bystanders couldn’t easily pin him down. “Why?”

“Why good-looking, or why being a snoop?” Jeri asked, watching Five serve Jerome next.

“The latter,” clarified Jerome, impatiently, tugging Five’s arm so he’d stop fussing and sit.

“Well, he left me his card,” Jeri said, fishing it out of her pocket, sliding it across the table.

Five picked it up, tilting it so that Jerome could see, too. _Lucius Fox, Wayne Industries_.

“I never met Fox while I was at Wayne Manor,” Five said slowly. “What kind of questions?”

“Had I seen you, did I know you,” Jeri said, winding pasta around her fork. “Your name.”

“And what did you tell this fantastic Mr. Fox?” Jerome asked, narrowing his eyes at her.

“That I didn’t know jack shit?” Jeri said incredulously, lifting the fork to her lips. “Duh.”

“Even though I’d never met you before,” said Five, “the Foxglove staff talked about you.”

“I wouldn’t have known you from _any_ of the waifs working over there. God’s truth.”

Jerome took Five’s free hand against the table, stroking Five’s wrist. “Looking for both of us?”

“Foxy seemed way more interested in our Queen of May here than in you,” Jeri said gravely.

Five set down his fork and stared at his untouched pasta. His appetite had evaporated.

“Bruce is smart,” he said grudgingly. “He knows that if he finds me, he finds Jerome, too.”

Leaning close, Jerome lifted Five’s hand and pressed it to his lips. “Together or not at all.”

Five nodded firmly at him, and then looked to Jeri. “Maybe you shouldn’t come back.”


	9. Retribution

Five spent the week immediately after Jeri’s departure trying not to go stir-crazy. He knew Jerome was right, that they couldn’t risk another outing as extensive as the one to the quarry.

The first time Five wandered alone into the woods, not even twenty yards from the cabin, Jerome came after him in a scarcely-concealed panic. He led Five back inside, asking what he could do to make sure that didn’t happen again.

“Come with me next time,” Five said.

In the days following, Jerome agreed to brief walks in the shade of the trees. Five took the field guide and a notebook with them, identifying as many of the plants as he possibly could.

“You’re as big a nerd as—” Jerome sighed, reconsidering his words “—as big a nerd as Bruce.”

“But I like killing people,” Five reminded him, tucking a waxy mayapple blossom behind his ear.

“Don’t,” Jerome said, plucking up the flower and tossing it down in alarm. “Those are poison.”

Five took his hands and kissed them. “Only if I eat it. You’re really fucking silly sometimes.”

“Damn,” Jerome sighed, twirling Five as if they’d been dancing. “I was hoping for all the time.”

“You are,” Five reassured him, apologetic as Jerome tugged his braid forward over his shoulder.

“Beautiful,” Jerome said, no longer smiling as he caressed Five’s cheek. “Like you belong here.”

“In-the-woods here?” Five asked, frowning. “I’d be in trouble if I was alone. Don’t know enough.”

That made Jerome’s expression shift from wistful to troubled. “If we don’t see Jeri soon, we’ll have to hunt. Now, there’s some guns on that rack, shotguns and rifles, but—”

“I’m guessing my handgun wouldn’t cut it?” Five asked, chewing his lip. “You know my aim.”

“Tougher to use on small, fast game,” Jerome explained. “We’re talking rabbits and pheasant.”

“I’ve seen rabbits here,” said Five, encouragingly, “but I don’t think I’ve seen pheasants, ever.”

“Turkey, maybe,” Jerome said, staring out through the trees, “but we’d have to wander too far.”

Five didn’t press the issue. He simply slid his arm through Jerome’s and turned them back.

Another week passed in which there was little to do but languish in the June heat and watch DVDs indiscriminately. They had begun to ration the food with more care, and there were few sweets left to speak of. 

Eating the last chocolate bar merited a ceremony, so they paired it with a viewing of _Stardust_.

Five felt for Yvaine in ways that made him ache. He’d fallen into a world that wasn’t made for him, had done everything in his power to find a place.

Jerome wasn’t much like Tristan, although he _had_ latched onto Five and refused to leave.

Five missed the ending, with Jerome whispering endearments in Five’s ear while his hand was busy beneath Five’s skirt. They rewound and rewatched the last few minutes, Five boneless and content in Jerome’s arms.

Comeuppance meant going down on Jerome about halfway through _The Princess Bride_ a few days later. Jerome hadn’t come in close to a week. Five paused the movie and held Jerome while he rested his head against Five’s chest, slow to recover.

The day after that, when Jeri’s knock sounded at the door, it wasn’t Jeri. It was one of her staff.

“Where is she?” Five asked, hesitant to let the massive, grocery-bearing man inside. “I told her to stay away, but…” He felt a rush of relieved disappointment. “I didn’t think she’d actually listen.”

“Boss has been in lock-up about forty-eight hours. Jerome’s old friend, Gordon, hauled her in.”

Five accepted the grocery bags one at a time, handing them to Jerome, who lingered behind him.

“Do they know we’re here?” he asked curtly. “Are they _close_ to finding out we’re here?”

The bodyguard shrugged, handing over the last two bags. “Only if boss cracks. She’s tough.”

“I know,” Five said, dusting his hands off once Jerome took the last bags to the kitchen. “Bye.”

“Would you listen for a second?” asked the bodyguard. “The only reason nobody’s tracked you down already is because, on paper, this place is located somewhere else.”

“Somewhere other than here?” Five asked, opening the door again, peering out. “That’s clever.”

“GCPD won’t be onto you as long as Jeri doesn’t confess,” the bodyguard went on, “but that stuck-up Wayne kid and his creepy boyfriend—”

“Brucie didn’t send a minion to nose around this time?” Jerome asked, slipping an arm around Five from behind. “Yeah, creepy’s about right.”

The bodyguard gave Jerome a funny look. “Isn’t this your twin brother we’re talking about?”

Five stepped aside so that Jerome would have clear aim. The kitchen knife struck home in the bodyguard’s chest.

Moving quickly, Five shoved him backwards into the grass. He snapped the man’s neck in one swift motion, pulse quickening at Jerome’s chuckle.

“Fun?” Five asked, rubbing the blood-smears on his hands. “I could play Lady Macbeth.”

“Hoped I’d get to see you do that at close range sooner than later,” Jerome said. “C’mere.”

Five tipped his head back against the door-frame, delirious at the urgency with which Jerome unfastened his jeans. The eager, worshipful heat of Jerome’s mouth made him melt, and he came gasping.

They stowed the corpse in the storm cellar overnight, and made an outing of disposal the next morning. Their bodies ached by evening from all the digging, but a soak in the bath while they listened to the old transistor radio they’d found in the cellar was heaven.

“I could get used to that,” Jerome said, a seeming non-sequitur, pretending to conduct the music.

“Get used to what?” Five asked, snatching Jerome’s busy hands, kissing them one after the other.

“Killing with you,” Jerome said, licking at the water droplets on Five’s ear like he’d done at the quarry. “I mean, watching you in that alley was great, but up-close and personal…”

Five bit his lip and tugged Jerome’s arms around his waist. “I know. I could get used to it, too.”

“Princess, what’s the matter,” Jerome sighed, not even a question. “Don’t like seeing you sad.”

“The thought of dying with you is comforting,” Five said quietly, “but now that the risk’s close…”

Jerome hugged Five tight to his chest. He was a solid, reassuring presence against Five’s back.

“I’m gonna do everything in my power, _everything_ ,” he said, “to keep us in one piece.”

“Me too,” Five whispered, squeezing Jerome’s forearms. “I just…want this too much. _You_.”

Jerome rested his head against Five’s. “I’m rarely one to admit I’m wrong, but this whole thing…” He shrugged. “I used to think it meant weakness.”

Five nodded slowly, drawing a breath. “You cared about Jeremiah. Not the way you...with me, but...” He struggled for words. “Was that weakness?”

“That’s the only time it made me weak,” Jerome said, “but _you_ make me stronger.”

Five closed his eyes and turned his head, nuzzling Jerome’s damp cheek. “I’ll kill them all.”

Jerome didn’t say anything for the remainder of their bath, but he let Five do the washing this time.

They dressed and made a late breakfast, somber on account of rationing.

As they lingered—Five with tea and the newspaper the bodyguard had brought, Jerome with coffee and another of his maps—a flash of movement outside made Five start. He went to the window.

“Did you see that?” he asked, frowning, listening intently. There was a high-frequency hum.

“No,” Jerome said, setting down his mug, rushing to join him, “but I can hear something.”

Five remembered something from his time under Kathryn’s tutelage, the recollection sharp and terrible. He turned from the window and rushed to the laundry room, which was a weird place to put a gun rack.

The smaller of the two shotguns was easier for Five to handle; he and Jerome had tested the firearms within their first week. He made sure it was loaded and went out the back door, with a mystified, similarly-armed Jerome on his heels.

“Are you gonna explain what’s going on?” Jerome asked in agitation, words catching in his throat as he spotted the same thing Five did. “What the hell are you trying to—gotcha, _shoot_!”

They both fired, taking out two of the four propellers. The target went into free-fall and crashed.

“I’ve seen plenty of these things,” Five replied. “The Court used them. It’s a WayneTech drone.”


	10. Reprieve

Five spent the remainder of the day disassembling the drone. There was nothing to be done about the footage it had already transmitted, but destroying it would at least send a message.

The real question was whether or not Bruce was sharing what he knew with Jim Gordon.

After hours of angry, intent work, Jerome pulled Five out of the kitchen chair and carried him to the bedroom. Five was getting used to this, Jerome’s way of calling time-out.

Jerome tucked Five in and handed him the latest field guide he’d been reading. He went to the kitchen, the sounds of his work so comforting that Five drifted off.

When Jerome woke Five up, there were bowls of macaroni and cheese on the nightstand. He handed one to Five, and they ate in silence, tense with awkward uncertainty.

“That must have been the first one,” Five said, as much to reassure Jerome as reassure himself.

“You’re probably right,” Jerome replied, taking Five’s half-eaten bowl away from him. “Done?”

Five nodded, flopping against the pillows as Jerome set both bowls aside. “Lost my appetite.”

Jerome scooted down so he wasn’t sitting anymore, settling on his side next to Five. He brushed his fingertips along Five’s jawline, his gaze troubled, but oddly content.

“You’ve been patient with me,” he said adoringly, meeting Five halfway as he leaned forward.

“What does that mean?” Five asked between the unhurried kisses he pressed to Jerome’s lips.

“It means,” Jerome said, slipping his hand beneath the hem of Five’s tee at the small of his back, tracing Five’s scar, “that if the game’s up, I wanna treat you right.”

Five shivered, pleased at the touch, giving him a puzzled look. “But you do that all the time?”

Jerome rolled his eyes in fond exasperation, bending to kiss and bite at Five’s exposed neck.

“Let’s use the stuff,” he mumbled, stiffening the way he did when he didn’t know how to ask.

“Oh,” Five said, cheeks heating, clutching at the back of Jerome’s head. “We could.” He kissed Jerome’s ear, coaxing him to look up. “You should. Better that way around. I can’t feel pain.”

Jerome looked unnerved at the suggestion. He kissed Five, already hard against Five’s hip.

“That’s why we’re gonna do it the _other_ way around,” he said. “I can feel what you can’t. We’ll know if anything goes wrong.”

“Who cares?” Five asked indignantly. “We won’t survive the next twenty-four hours anyway.” He returned the kiss, deep and demanding. “Is it…that you don’t really want…”

“ _Shhh_ ,” Jerome soothed, “it’s that I want you to take me more than I want to take...”

Five nodded assent, chest flooding with warmth. No matter the circumstances, Jerome nearly always let him lead. It was a heady rush, Jerome’s brand of rare, unwavering trust.

“Bag’s in the kitchen drawer,” Five said, giving Jerome’s ass a pinch before rolling out of bed. “I’ll get it.” He glanced over his shoulder. “You’d better be naked by the time I get back.”

Jerome nodded and sat up, shedding his shirt in a hurry. “Whatever you want, princess.”

Five considered ordering Jerome to call him _mistress_ , but he bit his tongue. He knew not to push. There would be time to figure out that kind of thing if they made it through tomorrow.

When Five returned with the pharmacy bag, Jerome was undressed. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, expectant, but his hands clamped on the mattress were telling.

“We don’t have to do this,” Five said, hoping Jerome would recall the offer from their first night.

Jerome watched him push back the bowls and dump the bag on the nightstand. He shook his head, stubborn, pulling Five over to rest against him while Five read the lubricant’s label.

“Maybe I didn’t make myself clear enough,” Jerome said. He fumbled the tube out of Five’s hands, flipped the cap, and got some on his fingers. He stroked Five, mouthing at the stretch of Five’s scar between his shoulder blades. “I want you.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Five hissed, easing Jerome’s hand off him, turning so he could knock Jerome back onto the bed. “I want you, too.” He tried to think about the positions he’d seen in practice, what might be wisest given Jerome’s anxiety. “On your side.”

Jerome re-oriented himself on the mattress while Five relocated the lubricant and got some on his fingers. He sighed, relaxing a little when Five slid an arm tight around his waist.

“This way, I can hold you,” Five explained, taking Jerome’s cock in his hand. “Touch you, too.”

Nodding into the pillow, Jerome closed his eyes tightly while Five lavished attention on him.

“You need to tell me if something’s wrong,” Five said, gentling his strokes. “Understand?”

“Yeah,” Jerome said, his voice taut, pushing into Five’s touch. “Huh. Safe-word stuff?”

Five nodded and rewarded him with a sharp bite to the back of his neck. “If you want.”

Jerome cackled at the suddenness of Five’s teeth sunk in his flesh. “ _Ow_. Painted lady.”

“Too many syllables,” Five cautioned, licking up the few pinpricks of blood he’d drawn.

“I can’t just use your name?” Jerome protested, sounding a bit impatient. “That’s short.”

“You say my name for lots of other reasons when we’re doing this,” Five reminded him.

“Fine,” Jerome huffed, whining when Five took his hand away to re-slick it. “Six.”

Five burst out laughing against Jerome’s shoulder. “ _Uh_ —sure. That works.”

Jerome made an indignant noise, but moaned when Five slid a finger over his rim, circling it. 

“I wasn’t serious,” he said, stifling more breathless laughter, “but if you say so, then— _oh_.”

Five had worked a fingertip inside him, and was pressing his way by degrees. “How’s this?”

“Different,” Jerome admitted tautly, clearing his throat. “Doesn’t…do much, to be honest.”

Pausing, Five pressed a guilty kiss against the fresh bite-mark. “Do you want me to stop?”

“Not on your life,” Jerome said vehemently, reaching back to take hold of Five’s wrist.

“Okay,” Five replied, letting Jerome drive his touch as deep as it could go. He felt his pulse skyrocket at Jerome’s sudden, startled gasp, tentatively crooking his finger. “How about now?”

“Still doesn’t…” Jerome coughed into the pillow, taking a few shallow breaths. “More.”

“Jerome,” Five cautioned, withdrawing his finger slowly, “if you can’t be specific—”

“It’s just pressure,” Jerome said. “Doesn’t hurt. Your teeth sting more than that. Try two.”

“Fingers?” Five asked, working just the tips of his index and middle inside him this time.

Jerome made a strangled sound and squirmed, face buried in the pillow again. “ _Yes_ , Five.”

Breathing hard, Five sank both fingers up to the first knuckle, pressing as tentatively as before.

“It’s like you’re running a fever,” he said, entranced at the heat of him, “even though I know…”

“Keep this up, darlin’,” Jerome rasped encouragingly, “and I’ll you’ll burn me up in no time.”

Five kissed Jerome’s earlobe, concentrating on working his fingers in and out. He was shaking, cock hard and tight against his belly even as Jerome’s arousal seemed to be fading.

“I want this to feel good for you,” Five insisted, lingering over a spot that made Jerome shiver.

“We both know I can take it,” Jerome said indignantly, pushing back against Five’s hand. “You’re—you’re just right, remember?”

“For your mouth,” Five pointed out, exasperated, withdrawing his fingers. “This is different.”

Jerome turned his head, regarding Five over his shoulder. “Not so different,” he said. “Do it.”

Partly because he felt contrary, partly because he felt overwhelmed, Five put his hand back on Jerome’s cock. He stroked until it was obvious his efforts were nearly in vain.

Jerome brought Five’s strokes to a halt. “The point’s that this will feel good for _you_.”

Five wasn’t accustomed to feeling this incompetent. He was desperately afraid he might cry.

“Give me a minute,” he mumbled against Jerome’s shoulder, hugging Jerome tightly. “Sorry.”

Twisting around in Five’s embrace, Jerome kissed Five’s eyes and stroked his face. Wordlessly, he reached over Five, took one of the condoms off the nightstand, and opened it.

Five was flushed and irritable by the time Jerome helped him put it on and rolled back over.

“You don’t have to last,” Jerome coaxed, kissing the back of Five’s hand. “I just wanna feel…”

Five fumbled for the lubricant and got more on the sheets than on his fingers. He slicked himself, uncertain how he felt about the sensory strangeness of polyurethane.

“Jerome,” Five said, positioning himself unsteadily, “this’ll hurt more than just— _just_ —”

“Doesn’t,” Jerome said. He grasped the crook of Five’s knee, stubbornly tugging him forward.

Struggling for breath, Five was flush against him in an instant, fully seated and trembling.

“You sure?” he panted, clutching Jerome tightly around the middle. He was so close his nerves felt raw.

“Yes,” Jerome grunted, pushing back against Five so abruptly it knocked the breath from him.

Five pulled out and pushed back in, gasping in shock. Jerome’s grasp on the back of his thigh, an unwavering reassurance, did him in.

Once Five had recovered, he withdrew. Rolling Jerome to face him, he used his hand like before—driving his touch so deep that Jerome whimpered.

“Felt so amazing inside you,” Five whispered, pointedly crooking his fingers. “Still does.”

Jolting at the pressure, Jerome groaned, coming messily against Five’s thigh. “ _Princess_.”

Five flexed his hand and wiped it on the mattress. He shifted his weight fully onto Jerome, moving the way he knew Jerome liked. He kissed Jerome’s next cry back into his mouth.

“You were so good for me,” Five sighed, nipping sharply Jerome’s lower lip. “You always are.”

“Wow, _fuck_ ,” Jerome gasped, the exhalation escaping him as a hysterical giggle. “Five.”

Five grinned down at him, and then winked. “The Foxglove wasn’t bad. I learned a few things.”

“You’d be the death of me whether you worked there or not,” Jerome protested, nuzzling him.

“Sap,” Five replied, kissing his cheek in a fit of sheer fondness. “Go to sleep. I’ll clean up.”

By the time Five had scrubbed himself off and returned with a dampened hand-towel, Jerome was fitfully dozing. He cleaned Jerome off, turned out the light, and crawled into bed.

“Can’t believe I get to keep you,” Five murmured sleepily, stroking Jerome’s hair. “Just can’t.”

However long Five managed to sleep, it wasn’t long enough. Not given what pulled him from comfortable darkness, and with such urgency.

“Hey,” Jerome whispered, his hand an agitated pressure on Five’s shoulder. “ _Five_.”

“ _Hmmm_?” Five gasped, struggling to focus as Jerome rolled him so they faced each other.

“Car just pulled up outside,” Jerome said, already slipping out of bed. “Not Jeri’s. So quiet you could miss it. An engine like that is expensive.”

Five rolled out of bed and gathered his clothes off the floor. He put on the leggings and skirt in a rush, shrugging into the nearest tank top and hoodie. He took the Ladysmith off the nightstand, noting that it was just past five in the morning.

“Get your shotgun,” Five said to Jerome, giving him a brief, fierce kiss on his way toward the front door. “Stay behind me.” He paused and looked back. “I love you.”

“Love you, too, precious,” Jerome said without even hesitating, his gaze all despairing adoration.

This was how Five would remember Jerome, if it came to choosing oblivion: collared shirt untucked, waistcoat unbuttoned, tie done in a rush. He already had the shotgun in hand.

Then again, memory in the great beyond might not exist. Jerome had said being dead was dark and dull, an infinite stretch of empty unknowing. And Five could recall nothing from before he’d awakened with raw, jagged-feeling sutures down his spine.

Five shoved his feet into his Docs without lacing them, waiting until Jerome had put on the nice shoes Jeri had gotten for him. When Jerome nodded, Five put his hand on the doorknob.

The dark sports car was parked at the end of the lane, on the side of the dirt road. Five’s cautious steps across the porch, and Jerome’s following, creaked intolerably in the quiet grey dawn.

When both car doors opened, Five raised and cocked the Ladysmith, descending the stairs.

“Don’t know whether I’m glad it’s you and not the cops,” he said loudly, “or disappointed.”

Bruce raised his hands in a gesture of supplication as he stepped over the ditch into the grass, but the imposing figure that fell into step behind him had a handgun at the ready. Five stared.

“Hey, bro,” Jerome said. “nice hat. Looks like I managed to at least give you some dress sense.”

Jeremiah’s uncanny eyes glimmered as he rolled them in annoyance. “At the cost of your own.”

“Shut up,” Bruce said to Jerome, lowering his hands, halting once he and Jeremiah were about six feet from the porch. “Five, has he hurt you?”

As Jerome made an indignant noise, Five used his free hand to tug the tank top’s neckline down. He wouldn’t give these fuckers the satisfaction.

“Only when I’ve asked,” he said, breaking into a coy smile, “and vice versa. You know I can’t feel pain anyway, so what does it matter?”

At that, Jeremiah’s sarcasm-laced composure appeared to break down. He glared at Jerome.

“Did it ever occur to you that maybe all that mushy stuff isn’t my thing?” Jeremiah said, such an abrupt, uncanny vocal impression of Jerome that it made Five dizzy. “I mean—sex, romance? Who needs it?” He flinched in disgust, appearing to come back to himself. “[Your words, Jerome](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13293657/chapters/44571058). Do yourself a favor and let go. This might be a game to you, but for _him_ —”

“You don’t know me!” Five snarled, advancing on them a few more feet, pleased to see Bruce shuffle back and hold out his arm to shield Jeremiah. “Bruce does, though.”

Bruce was staring at Jerome in an attitude of dazed disbelief. “You and Five?” he asked cautiously.

Nodding, Jerome stepped up behind Five, aiming at Jeremiah. “There’s no accounting for taste.”

Jerome’s twin burst into laughter so raucous that Five took several steps back, bumping into Jerome. He guided the barrel of Jerome’s shotgun onto his shoulder. He lifted Jerome’s left hand away from the weapon, bringing it over his head and down around his waist.

“I want you to see,” Five said, running his fingers possessively over Jerome’s as Jerome pulled him close and fervently kissed Five’s cheek. “We’re not going to Arkham.”

Bruce looked so bewildered, so bitterly conflicted, that Five had to wonder what had happened to him since the last time they’d seen each other. Jerome’s story didn’t account for all of it.

“This puts us in a difficult situation,” Bruce said finally, glancing sidelong at Jeremiah. “A year ago, we promised our—” he paused, appearing to reconsider his words “—associates that we’d ensure Jerome stayed in Arkham for the treatment he needs. I can see that the extra precautions I took with his first couple months were wasted.”

Jerome gave Five one more kiss before disengaging from him. He raised the shotgun, sighting it.

“Your precautions,” said Jerome, “permitted me to make a helpful friend in the hospital ward.”

“Bruce, this is a waste of time,” Jeremiah said under his breath. “Let me kill him and have done.”

“If you kill him, you kill us both,” Five said, pressing the Ladysmith’s barrel against his temple.

Jerome’s manic façade disintegrated. He lowered the gun in a hurry, letting it thump down on the grass. Wearily, he put both arms around Five and rested his head on Five’s shoulder.

“I’m real tired of this, precious,” he whispered, imploring. “Death or the funny farm, what’ll it be?”

Five glared at Bruce, who looked ready to scream in pained rage. He was likely holding onto the memory of what it had felt like to rescue Jeremiah a year ago, to find him _alive_.

“What if we keep running?” Five proposed, lowering the Ladysmith. “What if we don’t come back?”

“That’s not how Gotham works,” Jeremiah sneered. “Can’t escape. Add that to death and taxes.”

“It’s not an escape if the city doesn’t want you,” Five replied, “and it never wanted either of us.”

“Jeremiah,” Bruce said quietly, half-turning to him, “neither one of them tried to stay this time.”

Jeremiah blinked at him—reproachful, but so full of worship that Five had to marvel at the irony.

“Gordon will find them,” he said, putting his gun pointedly in his blazer pocket. “He’s stubborn.”

“I know,” Bruce said, reaching for Jeremiah’s hand, “but we can delay it. Say we found nothing.”

Jeremiah huffed in exasperation, but he took Bruce’s and squeezed it. “You’re lucky I trust you.”

Jerome started to cackle, low and mournful. “ _You_ covering for _me_ , that’ll be the day—”

“You can’t stay here much longer,” Bruce said. “Not unless you’re prepared to…get caught.”

Five twitched his gun at them, gesturing toward the car. “I want you to leave. Right now.”

“Better do what princess says,” Jerome yawned. “There’s no arguing with royalty, you know?”

Bruce dragged Jeremiah along by the hand. He didn’t stop until they’d reached the car, and then opened the passenger-side door for him. Closing it, he turned to face Five with a parting shot.

“You originally meant to leave Gotham, but you didn’t. Maybe take your own advice this time.”

Inside the car, Jeremiah had removed his hat. His gaze was fixed on Jerome, utterly unreadable.

Five didn’t lower his gun until the sleek car had vanished between the trees. He heaved a sigh.

“Not the ending I would’ve expected,” Jerome said, as if commenting on a film. “Refreshing.”

“Royalty?” Five asked, grinning, tucking the Ladysmith in his waistband. “Ruling over what?”

Gravely, Jerome tapped his chest. He caught Five around the waist, lifting Five’s right hand. 

“Like you even had to ask,” he said, whisking Five into a box-step. “May I have this dance?”


	11. Road Trip

Jerome waltzed Five around the porch for a while, to the startlingly gorgeous accompaniment of Five’s humming. When he asked what it was, Five said he forgot the title, but it was something by a band called Stars.

Besides, Jerome didn’t believe for a second that Bruce would keep his word. Not because Bruce wasn’t trustworthy, but because Jeremiah would turn him, too. He’d take every last moment with Five he could get.

After a while, Five dropped his head against Jerome’s shoulder and stopped humming.

“Pretty baby,” Jerome sighed, petting Five’s hair. “What do you need?”

“Sleep,” Five yawned, hanging heavily on Jerome’s neck. “Lots of it.”

Jerome carried Five to bed, stripping him down to his lovely skin and livid scars. He went back outside and retrieved both firearms, locked the door, and returned to the bedroom. He undressed and lay down, curling himself around Five.

Five woke Jerome hours later with fretful kisses. He was mumbling about a text on the burner phone Jeri’s bodyguard had brought.

“I think it’s her. She says she’s got…stuff for us, don’t know what. She’ll drop by.”

“ _Shhh_ ,” Jerome soothed, realizing Five was hard against his thigh. “C’mere.”

Getting off with drowsy kisses and the press of their bodies felt like dreaming, what with Five gasping _I want you, I love you, please_. Afterward, Jerome told Five he loved him, too, and cleaned them up. Clinging, they went back to sleep.

Jerome was awake when Jeri knocked. He put his boxers on, and then went to the door in nothing but those and Five’s kimono.

Jeri didn’t look phased. Her station wagon, parked in the driveway, had a grey sedan hitched to the back.

“So, are you gonna tell me what you did with Greg? What did he do to deserve it?” she asked.

“Buried him in the woods,” Jerome yawned, leaning in the doorjamb. “Mentioned my brother.”

“You’d better chill,” Jeri said, opening her tote. “That’s gonna happen a lot.” She removed a set of envelopes, one thick and heavy. “That’s got about fifty grand in hundred-dollar bills. The Wayne kid, he just walked into the club and handed me that shit.”

Jerome didn’t bother to open the fat envelope, just stared at her. “Huh. Did he say anything?”

“You know what to do,” Jeri mimicked. “Used to be sixty, but had to buy that,” she went on, pointing at the sedan. “You need to get outta dodge.”

“This one’s a letter,” Jerome said, noting the Seattle postmark and return-address on the other envelope. “You opened it. That’s a federal offense.”

“No fuckin’ clue who Zelda Kohler is, but she heard on the news you escaped a shoot-out at my club,” Jeri replied. “That you’re wanted, on the run.”

Jerome ran his thumb across the smudged ink, tucking both envelopes in the kimono’s pocket.

“Guess that’s it,” he said, eyeing Jeri up and down. “We’ve got wheels, cash, and a destination.”

Jeri shook his hand. Once they’d unhitched the sedan, she got in her car, window rolled down.

“Tell Miss Thing I wish him all the luck in the world, got it?” she said, voice slightly choked.

After watching Jeri drive away, Jerome went back inside and stroked Five’s hair till he stirred.

“Jeri’s gonna miss you,” Jerome told him softly. “You really made an impression, precious.”

Five rifled through the cash, counting it with impressive speed, and then read the letter aloud.

“It’s the nurse who arranged your escape,” he concluded in wonder. “She wants to help us?”

Jerome kissed Five, letting the bill-bundles and the letter scatter between them. “Road trip!”

Packing took a few hours, but it was easier since they’d dug actual luggage from the closet.

They ate and went back to sleep until dusk. Five grumpily smashed the ancient alarm clock and helped Jerome load a few last things into the sedan.

Jerome spent the first ten hours getting them as far as the outskirts of Indianapolis. He remembered a particular trailer park that wasn’t picky about _anything_ as long as you paid, and even had some rentals.

Five showed the proprietor three thousand dollars in cash, asking if they could sleep in one of his old Jaycos and take it with them.

The proprietor said, “Sure, but it’s a piece of shit. Then again, three grand won’t get you new.”

It was better than the trailer Jerome had grown up in. The shower worked; the mattress was clean.

Five insisted on buying new pillows and linens when they hit Chicago. There wasn’t much to do except eat, talk, and lounge in bed.

North Dakota was a ton of nothing, just as Jerome remembered. They spent the night at a campground in Theodore Roosevelt National Park.

Stargazing devolved into their first urgent make-out session since Pennsylvania. Five led Jerome back inside the trailer, asked if Jerome was ready to take him, and then rode Jerome until both of them were a half-dressed, breathless wreck.

Recklessly, they stayed two days—hiking the woods, fucking to the point of exhaustion.

Jerome felt vindictively content to leave the place overwritten with better memories.

Veering south through Wyoming and Utah, they reached Nevada. Both wanted to see Las Vegas.

They wandered the streets after dark, taking in the spectacle and commotion. Jerome wore an air mask and Five’s beanie, but Five got so dolled-up that the inconvenience was worth it. He clung defiantly to Jerome’s arm.

Around three in the morning, Jerome knifed a john who’d had the nerve to make a pass at Five.

Breathless and a little bloody, Five pinned Jerome to the alley wall and said, “Let’s get married.”

“Sap,” Jerome replied, but they shed their stained layers and hit the first chapel they could find. 

They killed the officiant, too. Signing a document at gunpoint that contained the names _Jerome Valeska_ and _Five Monroe_ was something he would’ve reported. Leaving immediately seemed wise, although none of the flashing lights and sirens pursued them.

Jerome, Idaho was their last pit-stop. Five crumpled the map in disdain, but he set his hand on Jerome’s thigh.

They paid the waterfall at Cauldron Linn a visit before moving on the next afternoon, marveling at the rapids.

Twelve hours later, when Zelda Kohler answered her front door, Jerome proudly presented Five.

“Married?” Zelda echoed, shaking Five’s hand, staring at Jerome’s unusually banal clothing.

“Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do in Vegas?” asked Five, with endearingly earnest concern.

Zelda tried to stifle her amusement, but didn’t succeed. At least she still knew how to laugh.

Jerome hugged Five tightly, letting him hide his face in embarrassment. “I, uh, got your letter.”

“I’d gathered,” said Zelda, wiping her eyes as she opened her door wide. “Please come in.”

Five nested in the spare bedroom while Zelda and Jerome caught up. When he emerged, Zelda apologized and made him tea.

Ten weeks passed in a blur of sightseeing and quiet evenings. Five liked to sit on the back porch, barefoot, and watch the fireflies.

Jerome held him while he did, keeping an idle eye on news reports. It was mid-October; there’d been no mention of them since July.

Days later, a letter addressed to Zelda arrived, but the salutation said _Dear Jerome and Five_.

Jeri’s note was short. She asked them to look at the enclosed packet, said she missed them. The documents were from Arkham Asylum and Gotham City Hall: a discharge certificate and a pardon.

That night, after Zelda served what felt like a last supper, Jerome asked Five if he was homesick.

Five stared at the fireflies a long time before responding.

“I don’t want us to go back unless it’s safe. I don’t want anyone left alive who has hurt you.”

Jerome kissed the side of Five’s neck, contemplated sucking him off nice and slow before bed.

“Jeremiah’s off-limits,” he replied bitterly. “I won’t let you, not after what Bruce did for us.”

“Fine,” Five said, reaching back to twist his fingers in Jerome’s hair. “If there’s anyone _else_ left, I want to kill them for you.”

“Well, wait,” said Jerome, licking the spot he’d just bitten, making Five arch and squirm. “There’s someone. Told him I’d let him live, in case he proves useful. Looks like he will.”

Five kissed the back of Jerome’s hand. “You haven’t introduced me to all of your family yet.”

Zelda was sad to see them go, but she was thrilled with the gift of a refurbished Jayco trailer.

According to Google Maps, Seattle to Gotham without any meandering stops was forty-three hours. Taking turns, each alert as the other slept in the passenger’s seat, they drove it in thirty.

Jerome and Five weren’t totally bedraggled when they walked into Zach’s Diner, but they weren’t presentable, either. Jerome’s dress shirt was wrinkled, and Five’s elegant braid was falling loose.

In the midst of wrapping silverware, Zachary Trumble stared up at them—eyes darting from Jerome’s revolver to Five’s knife.

At Five’s request, they’d swapped weapons.

“I decided to come back,” Jerome said brightly, “so Mom’s dear old brother can meet my baby.”

“Your girlfriend’s pretty,” Zach said, hands in the air. “Real pretty. What’s your name, doll?”

“Five,” Five replied flatly. “You don’t get to call me that. I’m not a girl. Also, we’re married.”

“Try again,” Jerome said, tapping Zach’s temple with the gun. “You don’t wanna see him mad.”

“Right,” Zach said. “Sorry. Your husband’s, uh, cute. Five, you said? That’s your name?”

“Yes,” said Five, hopping up on the edge of the table. “I’m not a guy, either. It’s complicated.”

“Third time’s the charm, Unc,” Jerome scolded, checking Zach’s watch. “He’s been patient.”

Zach widened his eyes desperately as Five brought the switchblade’s handle close to his throat.

“You keep saying _he_. Are you callin’, uh, Five the wrong thing—just to have me on?”

“Jerome’s fine,” Five cut in. “Like I said—” he flicked the blade open “— _complicated_.”

“So, where’d you meet this joker?” Zach asked Five curiously, nodding at Jerome. “Arkham?”

“Not that our meet-cute is any of your biz, but yeah,” Jerome replied. “Match made in heaven.”

Five gave Jerome an impatient look, positioning the knife’s point. “Your uncle is rude.”

“Welp, there’s your verdict,” Jerome said, nodding at Five. “Guess you made a bad impression.”

“I helped you find your brother, you ungrateful brat,” Zach sneered. “You said you’d let me—”

Five drove the knife into Zach’s neck with excruciating precision, head tilted, eyes narrowed.

“I think that’s the right spot,” he said as Zach gurgled and bled out, finally burying the blade.

“You did good, precious,” Jerome said, pocketing the gun. He came around the side of the table.

When the diner door opened, they didn’t stop kissing to see who it was. They didn’t need to.

“Do you even understand,” Bruce said, “how much trouble I’ve gone to for the two of you?”

While Jerome ignored him in favor of winking at a scandalized Jeremiah, Five huffed curtly.

“Nobody’s going to miss Mr. Trumble. Besides—you can just clean _this_ up, too, can’t you?”

“I’m not really interested in doing things like before,” Jerome said. “I’m feeling…settled.”

“Back when you were torturing me,” Jeremiah retorted, “you said you needed a vacation.”

“And that’s exactly what we gave you,” Bruce said, furious. “Did it clear your minds any?”

Five hopped down off the table and turned to face them, tugging Jerome’s arms around him.

“This was the last item on my bucket list,” he said, “and we’ve only taken defensive action.”

Jeremiah was mulling something over in that twists-and-turns mind of his, Jerome could tell.

“We can’t leave them here,” he said, sounding unhappy about it. “They’ll cause more grief.”

Bruce squeezed Jeremiah’s wrist reassuringly. “We can put them in the penthouse for now.”

“Girls just wanna have fun,” Jerome said, pouting over Five’s shoulder. “Right, princess?”

Five nodded, pulling Jerome’s arms tighter around his waist. “Right,” he said with a grin.


	12. Return

Bruce’s Mustang was flashier than the Rolls-Royce that Five had stolen two and a half years ago.

Jerome was staring out the tinted window, ignoring the intermittent conversation up front. He had a possessive arm around Five’s shoulders.

Jeremiah was in the passenger-seat, twisted around with his expensive pistol pointed at them.

Five pulled the elastic from his wrecked hair and shook it loose, leaning into Jerome’s side while he returned Jeremiah’s cold, pale-eyed stare. He yawned and drew his legs up.

“Hangin’ in there, princess?” asked Jerome, with in immediate, solicitous concern. “Don’t have to keep that up,” he went on, turning Five’s face toward him. “He wouldn’t dare.”

“You sure?” Five asked, kissing Jerome on the mouth. “I don’t want to give him the chance.”

Jeremiah rolled his eyes, twitching the gun. “It’s a ways to Midtown, so I could say the same.”

Jerome pulled Five into his lap and kept kissing him, which was much nicer than keeping watch. He rubbed Five’s back, steady and reassuring. 

“Bruce keeps him on a tight leash,” said Jerome, loudly enough for the front seat to hear.

“Do you really want to test that theory?” Bruce asked, raising his voice in slight warning.

Five ran his fingers through Jerome’s hair, scratching at his scalp. “You look really tired.”

“So do you,” Jerome said quietly, stroking Five’s jawline. “I’m not gonna sleep, though.”

Five slumped, resting his head on Jerome’s shoulder. “He’ll have to shoot both of us.”

“There’s no way I’d rather go, sweet pea,” Jerome agreed, idly playing with Five’s hair.

“Nobody’s shooting anyone,” insisted Bruce, tersely. “Jeremiah, just…put it away, please.”

“I’d ask if you thought their act was sincere,” Jeremiah sighed, “but it’s been quite a while.”

“They’d ask the same about us,” Bruce pointed out. “They haven’t dropped it in months.”

“That’s because it’s not a fucking act,” Five said irritably. “I don’t even _like_ people.”

“I take back everything I’ve said,” Jeremiah deadpanned. “They’re perfect for each other.”

Five must have drifted off. The car wasn’t moving, and Jerome was gently shaking him.

“Where are we?” Five mumbled, disoriented as Jerome smoothed his hair. “S’really dark.”

“Parking garage,” Jerome said, kissing Five’s forehead as someone yanked their door open.

“Dear heart, what is it?” asked a voice from the front, which Five recognized as Jeremiah.

“Nothing,” Bruce said, evidently the one who’d opened the door. “If you don’t make a fuss, I won’t…” He frowned as Five peered out at him.

“I’ll go with you,” Jeremiah said, getting out of the car. “You heard him. No fuss, no force.”

Five climbed off Jerome’s lap and out of the car, which put him nose to nose with Bruce.

“The way I see it,” he told Bruce, turning to offer Jerome his hand, “you chose wrong.”

“Wasn’t gonna work out between us, Brucie,” said Jerome, all sarcasm. “You’re no fun.”

The entire joking exchange was worth seeing Jeremiah’s pissy expression turn vicious.

Five took Jerome’s arm and dragged him toward the elevator, glancing over his shoulder. Just one false move from Jeremiah, and he would kill—

“Remember what I said,” Jerome murmured, tucking them into the elevator’s far corner while their escort followed. “No need to defend my honor.”

“You don’t know that,” Five said between gritted teeth, turning around. “Better safe than sorry.”

Jeremiah was watching Jerome this time, unblinking. “You’d spare me even now? Seriously?”

Five tensed, ready to strike if necessary, until Jerome was done cackling at his joke of a brother.

“Oh, come on,” said Jerome, finally, resting his forearms across Five’s shoulders. “Bygones.”

Rolling his eyes, Jeremiah turned toward Bruce, who’d been standing with his head lowered.

“I’m complicit in this decision,” Jeremiah said testily, “but I might have made a mistake.”

Bruce reached for Jeremiah’s hand, squeezing it. “No,” he insisted. “The mistake’s mine.”

Five turned his back on them, tired of being vigilant for such a low threat. “You okay?”

Jerome _booped_ the tip of Five’s nose, and then kissed his forehead. “Fabulous.”

“Yeah, but,” Five said, not bothering to whisper, “they’re putting us under house arrest.”

“There’s no safer place in the city,” Jerome said, tugging him close as the elevator stopped.

“You’re right,” Five muttered, stepping into the marble-floored vestibule when Jerome ushered him out. “Security at Wayne Manor wasn’t great.”

“I promise a lot has changed since you broke in,” Bruce said sardonically. “Turn here.”

Five glared at the toes of his boots, trudging wherever Jerome steered him. Bruce kept flashing his ID at security staff, whose stares Five resented.

Jerome was in performance mode, whistling cheerfully—or _trying_ to—while they walked.

Suddenly, Five realized the stares weren’t aimed at him. They were aimed at the curiosity that was both twins in one place. With his hair covering his face, Five realized it’d be a miracle if anyone thought much of _him_ at all. Jerome Valeska’s whore, so what.

He was relieved when another elevator, this one even fancier than the first, opened before them.

“They weren’t looking at you,” Jerome said, pulling Five into his arms as soon as the door closed. “ _Those two_ are the freak show, got it?”

“I want them to go away,” Five said tremulously, starting to tremble with exhaustion and rage.

“Hear that?” Jerome said, sounding dangerous for the first time since talking to his uncle back at the diner. “Dump us off, and get out.”

Ducking his head, Five wound his fingers in Jerome’s blood-splattered lapels. He had blood on his clothes, too, but black hid the damages.

“Some food’s already there,” Bruce said, tapping his badge to make the elevator halt, “but I’m going to have to come back tomorrow. We didn’t get anything from that car you left behind. I’ll have it destroyed. You’ll need clothes, medical—”

“Jeri,” Five said, refusing to budge when the elevator doors opened. “I want to see Jeri.”

“The nightclub owner?” Jeremiah said in disbelief, already joining Bruce in the hall while Jerome cajoled Five. “Why would you—”

“Don’t you _question_ ,” Jerome seethed, finally picking Five up, “what my baby wants.”

Five wound his arms around Jerome’s neck, keeping his face hidden in Jerome’s shoulder until it was obvious that Bruce and Jeremiah had led them to the penthouse and unlocked it. Jerome stepped inside; the door shut behind them.

“The certificate!” Five shouted over Jerome’s shoulder, hoping Bruce could still hear him. “If you don’t get _that_ before you crush the car, I’ll—”

“Good call,” Jerome said, turning so he could shout after them, too. “We got hitched in Vegas!”

One pair of footsteps backtracked out in the hall, although the door didn’t open again. Five wondered which one of them had returned.

“You did _what_?” Bruce asked, as if he hadn’t properly heard. “You want me to get…”

“Marriage certificate,” Jerome clarified mildly, rocking Five where he stood. “From the car.”

“Please say you weren’t connected to those killings—” Bruce stopped. “Never mind. Fine.”

Five was satisfied to hear Jeremiah raise his voice in dismay as Bruce retreated to rejoin him.

“That oughta keep ’em occupied,” Jerome said, walking again, figuring out out what was where. “Gonna clean you up, find a nice bed…”

Exhausted, Five let Jerome set him on the sink’s edge in the first opulent bathroom they found. Jerome undressed himself, and then Five, leaving their filthy clothes in a heap.

“There’d better be robes or something,” Five said, watching Jerome fiddle with the shower.

“Who cares if there aren’t,” Jerome said, coming back to help Five hop down. “C’mere.”

Five stepped under the hot spray, turning his face directly into it while Jerome kept him from wobbling into the wall. “But if Bruce comes back tomorrow, we’ll be…”

“Serve him right, wouldn’t it,” Jerome said, reaching for one of the bottles in the caddy.

“I don’t want him to see…” Five sulked. “Never mind. I showed him my scars back in the day, didn’t I. It’s _you_ I don’t want him to...”

“He’s seen me without my face,” Jerome said, scrubbing Five’s hair. “Does it get any worse?”

Maybe it was the fact they’d driven for over a day without sleeping, but Five giggled before he could help himself. “Guess not.”

“Any excuse to make those uptight pricks squirm,” Jerome said darkly, letting Five rinse his hair while Jerome started to wash his own.

Five lost track of what he was doing, his limbs heavy. He felt Jerome ease them onto the vast shower floor. There was room for them to stretch out, but Five curled into a ball anyway.

“I know it took a lot for you to stay awake this long, princess,” Jerome said, rubbing over Five’s back with something else slippery and minty-smelling. “Did they ever say why…”

Five shook his head, curling closer against Jerome’s chest. “Just the way I was made, maybe.”

Jerome nodded, washing as much of Five as he could reach. “You burn out fast. That’s all.”

The next time Five regained consciousness, Jerome was settling him naked and damp into bed.

“Pretty thing,” Jerome said, climbing gingerly over Five to lie beside him. “Go back to sleep.”

Five curled into him just like he’d done in the shower, clinging petulantly. “ _Jerome._ ”

“M’right here,” Jerome whispered, nuzzling Five’s cheek. “ _Shhh_. Close your eyes.”

Sunlight woke Five, just like on their first morning at the safe house. He kissed the back of Jerome’s neck, hugging him tightly.

“This bed’s nice,” Five mumbled in response to Jerome stroking along his arm. “Sleep okay?”

“Like the dead,” Jerome said, yawning, squeezing Five’s wrist. “Believe me, I should know.”

“Shut up,” Five said fondly. He rubbed Jerome’s belly, startled to feel Jerome’s erection nudge the back of his hand. “Hey.”

“Must be that survival thing,” Jerome sighed, annoyed at himself. “S’fine that you’re not—”

“Wanna fuck in this bed?” Five asked, a little breathless, stroking him. “I’ll ride you again.” 

Jerome gasped, pushing into Five’s grasp. “If that’s what you want, precious. Anything.”

“I do,” Five said, keeping his hand on Jerome’s cock while he sat up and surveyed the room.

Everything was boringly elegant. If there was lube in the bedside drawer, Jerome wouldn’t want to know—on account of who had put it there.

Five settled between Jerome’s thighs, bending down to suck him. He kept at it until Jerome was restless, and until _he_ was as hard as Jerome.

Jerome shuddered as Five shifted to straddle him, used the slickness to sink till they were flush.

“Love you so much, baby,” he groaned, clutching at Five’s thighs. “Wanna make you come.”

Five panted, chasing a kiss. He shifted till the angle was right, spilling against Jerome’s belly.

“Oh, _princess_ ,” Jerome rasped. He shook beneath Five’s weight, climaxing a heartbeat later.

“Sorry,” Five whispered after they’d lain still for a minute, sticky and clinging. “Too fast.”

“Nope,” Jerome murmured lazily, kissing Five’s cheek over and over. “Always just right.”

Five left Jerome to doze. There was a robe hanging on the back of their door. He found the bathroom, got cleaned up before donning his briefs and tank top, and took a damp washcloth back to the bedroom with him.

Once he’d scrubbed Jerome and tucked him in, Five put the robe on and wandered into the living room. He wanted to see how many channels the plasma TV had, but couldn’t jeopardize Jerome’s shot at some sound sleep.

While he was flipping through the list of movies on Pay-Per-View, someone knocked on the door. Security was tight, so it had to be Bruce.

Five opened the door, past caring if Jeremiah was there, too. He stared, rubbing his eyes.

Jeri was bent over, not even looking up, trying to keep a dozen bags and parcels in order.

“Special delivery’s not from me this time,” she said dryly. “There ain’t no way I can afford—”

Five just about tripped over Bruce’s shopping haul, but Jeri caught him and held him tight.


	13. Responsibility

Jerome didn’t know how long it had been since Five got up. He yawned and stretched, listening for the TV.

Instead, he heard a voice he didn’t recognize, and Five’s response in a cadence that might’ve been anything from sarcastic to tetchy. He rolled out of bed and searched the room, frantic, relieved to find a robe in the closet and a pistol in the nightstand.

Jerome didn’t know what to make of the sudden silence. He burst into the living room, taking aim at the figure on the sofa.

“Jeez Louise,” Jeri said, putting her hands up. “ _Still_ not a morning person, are ya?”

Five, on the floor in the midst of bags, boxes, and tissue paper, stopped folding whatever he held. He draped it over his arm and rushed to Jerome.

“Where’d you find that?” Five asked, taking the gun out of Jerome’s hand. He uncocked it, stuck it in Jerome’s robe pocket, and showed Jerome the shirt. “Here. Too big to be one of mine.” Five leaned close, kissing Jerome’s ear. “You’re gonna look hot in it.” 

“Bedside drawer thing,” Jerome said, taking hold of the crisp new shirt. “I’ve never seen this.”

Five showed off the knee-length black skater dress he wore. The long, sheer sleeves looked killer with Five’s leggings. “It’s not all bad.”

“Somebody said y’all needed clothes,” Jeri said, sinking into the throw pillows. “Didn’t buy ’em, but I’m being paid to deliver.”

Jerome held the shirt up, staring at the tag. His size exactly, and his _taste_ exactly, too.

“There’s a lot,” Five said, crouching to examine some expensive black jeans. “I wonder how they…” He frowned. “Wait, no. I don’t wonder.”

Deciding he didn’t want to think about that part, either, Jerome scanned the mess on the floor until he’d located boxers, socks, and the bottom half of a suit. He was aware Jeri was watching him, so he finished foraging and stared at her.

“Thanks for helping him into that,” Jerome said, indicating the twenty-odd buttons down the back of Five’s dress. “Is something wrong?”

“Nah, but I just realized I left a coupla bags next to the elevator,” Jeri said, waiting until Five was bent over another garment and occupied by tag-removal. She tilted her head meaningfully toward the door. “Why don’t you go get ’em?”

“I’m dressed,” Five said, picking around in a sleeve’s seam for the end of a hang-tag. “I can go.”

“Nope,” Jerome said, reaching down to pet Five’s hair on his way out. “I’ll just put these on.”

The clothes weren’t even scratchy, so pristine they must have been steam-cleaned. Jerome stuck the pistol in his back pocket before making his way back through the living room to the door. 

Five made as if to follow, but Jeri beckoned him over to the sofa. He fell in a heap, hugging her.

Jerome had an inkling of what was waiting. The socks made walking soundlessly down the marble-tiled hall easier. He realized there was almost nothing else on this floor.

Bruce stood with his back to the wall, next to the gilded elevator buttons. He had his hands deep in the pockets of his long black coat, glancing up when Jerome approached.

Removing the gun from his back pocket, Jerome waved it. “Did you know you forgot this? Not the smartest move, letting a pair of psychopaths stay in your home-away-from-home.”

“I didn’t forget it,” Bruce said calmly, pulling a matching one partway out of his pocket. “I keep one there for a reason.” He raised his eyebrows. “Put it away, and I’ll do the same.”

Irritated, but intrigued, Jerome stuck the gun back in his pocket. “What do you want? I don’t have all day. My baby’s gonna put on a fashion show.”

Bruce didn’t react. Instead, he pulled a keyring out of his other pocket and held it out at arm’s length. There were a pair of security badges on it.

“Okay, I’ll bite,” Jerome said, snatching it from him, pocketing that, too. “What’s the catch?”

“I helped you,” Bruce said. “Your slate’s as clean as it’s ever going to get. Quid pro quo.”

“ _Aha_ ,” Jerome said, clapping his hands. “You think I’ll just stay on my best behavior?”

“Better than,” Bruce cautioned, his bitterness starting to show. “I’ve always felt responsible for you. Jeremiah and I agreed to some other parties that we’d be held accountable.”

“I get it,” Jerome said, pulling a mock-frown, tracing imaginary tear-tracks down his cheeks. “If we cause trouble, it’s gonna make Birdman sad.”

“You want to protect Five, right?” Bruce asked candidly. “Speaking of, why did you—why him?”

“This might be hard for you to accept,” Jerome said, advancing on him threateningly, “but none of this was on purpose. _None_. Wrong place at the right time, he was just—down there the night I busted out. Boring, am I right?” He drew his gun and pressed the barrel against Bruce’s left shoulder. “We ran into each other, _bam_. Rest’s history.”

Bruce wasn’t calm anymore, but he managed to take hold of the pistol’s barrel and move it aside.

“You need to be careful, Jerome,” he said. “He’s ten times more dangerous than I’ve ever been.”

“Funny thing,” Jerome mused, “so’s my brother. You realize what I did had _zero_ effect on that head of his?” He whistled. “Turns out he’s always been like that—as crazy as I am, maybe even crazier.”

“You have a second chance,” Bruce said, punching buttons. “A third, even. Don’t waste it.” 

“Won’t have to,” Jerome taunted, “as long as you keep your friends away from my princess.”

Bruce scowled. “Keep Five away from _them_. Oswald’s security would probably fire on-sight.”

Jerome tilted his head, watching Bruce step into the elevator. “That maid with the shotgun?”

“Don’t let Olga hear you say that,” Bruce said. “She’d shoot you for it, maybe for even less.”

“Fine, _butler_ ,” Jerome replied, shrugging as the door began to close. “Tell her it suits her.”


End file.
